


The Missing Jewel of House Shacklebolt

by LR_Earl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Broken Golden Trio, F/M, Forced Bonding, Grey!Hermione, Mates, Mating Bites, Pureblood Culture, Spy!Draco, Spy!Hermione, Veela!hermione, pureblood!Hermione, really diverges after 5th year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LR_Earl/pseuds/LR_Earl
Summary: Never one to miss a beneficial alliance, Lucius aligns his family with House Shacklebolt to secure the Malfoy lineage. Little does he know he's promised his only heir to the one he hates. "As the Minister for Magic's daughter, certain customs must be upheld. Our people will look to your union." "But I am not the Minister's daughter! I'm just … Hermione."





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling – she owns Harry Potter and the Wizarding World. I make no money from this; this is pure entertainment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fancasts:  
> Idris Elba is Kingsley Shacklebolt  
> Rosemund Pike is Marie Delacour Shacklebolt  
> Charlize Thereon is Narcissa Malfoy  
> Jason Issacs is Lucius Malfoy

 

Summer 1980

"It seems I have underestimated the height of your ambition, Lucius," Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt said on smile as he sat across from his former Housemate. In truth, he knew there wasn't anything Lucius Malfoy would do to secure his family's wealth and prosperity. But surely, this took the lemon cake, said wizard was sampling. Kingsley started aghast at the man across the small table from him. "You are asking me for the jewel of House Shacklebolt."

It wasn't as if the Slytherins had much in common these days. A few years ago, no one would have batted an eye at the two opposing men sitting down for tea within Diagon Alley. But following their graduation from Hogwarts, the two former friends had moved from Housemates and friends to associates as Britain's wizarding populace delved into its first Wizarding War. Traversing separate paths, Kingsley had followed a path through the Ministry and the newly-updated Auror training program. Lucius had his dealings, both political and otherwise, and if the rumors were to be believed, they were somewhat nefarious in nature.

"You know me, old friend, Slytherin through and through," The Malfoy Lord sought to remind the Auror of their past friendship with a roguish smirk. "So, do we have an accord?"

Kingsley knew when he was caught. Lucius had waited until the opportune moment and under the guise of celebrating the approaching first birthday of Kingsley's daughter, suggested the two meet to celebrate the occasion. "Are you positive there is no way else to settle our life debt?" Kingsley sighed his question, as he crumbled a napkin under the table. "The ramifications of such a … and what would our associates think when they learn of this?"

"They would say two houses of the Sacred Twenty Eight have joined together. Hardly a reason to cause a scene, wouldn't you think?" Lucius took a sip of his tea, his eyebrows innocently drawn upward. But Kingsley was no fool.

He fixed Lucius with a glare over the rim of his raised cup. "You and I both know what they would think." Kingsley looked around before lowering his voice, lest their conversation carry further than it needed to. "There is a war brewing, Lucius. Our houses have never been further apart than they are now."

"And my family has not joined this charade of a revolution," Lucius put on airs, pretending to be affronted at the ever-rising Dark Lord's uprising that dominated the news of the day.

Kingsley scoffed, again checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Do not make a mockery of my intelligence, Lucius. I've read the DMLE reports. It's only a matter of time before the Ministry finds the evidence they need to put you away for aiding and abetting this 'Dark Lord'. You have been careless, my friend," Kingsley chided.

Lucius' grin was magnetic. "And all the more reason, we need to strengthen our alliances. Keep your friends close, as they say," he suggested, as if there was room for Kingsley to refuse.

The proud Auror was the scion of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Shacklebolt. He knew there were certain expectations to carry, even if he didn't believe in the foolish blood purity cause, traditions were expected to be maintained. And nothing could erase a life debt when the debtor came calling.

Kingsley regarded his old friend across from him, hating that he felt trapped into his decision. True, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had no substantial evidence on the Malfoy Lord and his true allegiances, but there was enough smoke around the wizard to know he wasn't being completely forthcoming. Kingsley wouldn't pry forcefully … yet. He chalked it up to Slytherin loyalty or some rot.

But back to more pressing matters. "I'll have to speak to Marie. She will not be happy."

Lucius inclined his head in understanding, raising his cup to seal the agreement that would be put in magical binding later. "But she will understand," he finished. 'As any dutiful pureblood wife would,' was the implied addition.

Kingsley raised his cup, resigned and agreed, "Yes, I suppose she would understand."

* * *

But Marie Delacour Shacklebolt would not understand. And the evening her husband came home announcing her baby girl was promised another, Merlin knows she  _tried_  to understand. Truly, she did.

She was not naïve regarding the old ways. It was, in fact, how her union with Kingsley had come to be. And although she came to love and cherish her husband, she would not let her baby girl, her sweet angel follow the same path as she. She wanted her to marry for love. How could she be sure this Malfoy heir, only an infant himself, would treat her daughter with kindness and respect? How could she be sure that he would not harm her? They whispered among her circles the kind of company his father supposedly kept.

But Marie would not interfere because she knew what her husband and the rest of the Ministry were facing – what darkness waited just beyond the sunset. She heard the whispers of what happened to those deemed 'blood-traitor' by this mad-man hell-bent on world domination. Her husband would never speak on it, but she saw the worry in his eyes, knew the horrors he had faced in his daily search of this Dark Lord. She worried day and night that she and their family would be next.

And soon the argument shifted from an alliance with the Malfoy family to their daughter's safety. Night after night, she argued with the war- weary Auror on how wards had not protected this family or that family, the latest casualty in the war. She argued that drastic action needed to be taken. One night, they'd reached a truce when he agreed to let her take their daughter, barely a year-old, with her to Delacour ancestral home in France.

Kingsley would stay in Britain and fight; she would return when the war was over and their safety was assured. He assisted Marie as they bundled their daughter and prepared to leave the Shacklebolt home for an Apparition point. Before his wife left with their only child, he kissed his daughter's charm bracelet, outfitted with the insignia of their House, a golden lightning bolt.

But Marie would never make it to France.  _The Prophet_  listed Kingsley's wife and young daughter as missing and causalities of Voldemort's war the next day.

Kingsley wouldn't leave the house for weeks.

But unbeknownst to him a few days later, a Muggle adoption center drew up papers for an infant found at the local hospital. It was shortly after that Helen and Gregory Granger received a phone call informing them that a young orphaned girl was eligible for adoption.

And so her story begins...


	2. Hogwarts Years 1-4

Hermione Granger always knew she was different and was quite proud of the fact. Getting to that point, however, was another feat entirely. When she was a young child, it wasn't easy to overcome the nastiness of her fellow primary schoolmates. Her schoolmates mocked her frizzy curls, the smattering of freckles across her nose, and most cruelly of all, they mocked that she did not 'match' her mum and dad.

With tears pouring down her cheeks, Helen and Gregory Granger tried their best to explain to a six year-old that people sometimes made ignorant comments. But it was difficult to explain to why their daughter's skin was the perfect shade of gold and caramel while theirs was shades paler than hers. In time, she accepted that while people were different on the outside, they were the same on the inside. Hermione learned to ignore those who made comments about her family, because they were a family all the same and  _that_  was the only thing that mattered. In time, young Hermione built an emotional wall around these types of bullies, but as a result, had very few friends growing up. But it was no matter for she turned to books for companionship.

For almost twelve years it had been the just three of them; her love for her parents grew every time they consoled her after a schoolmate mocked her or came to comfort her when some unexplained accident occurred around her. They built her self-confidence and bade her to ignore the others. Sure they doted on her, as any parents of an only child would, but they made sure to keep her grounded. She learned about the world from her parents – and her very first dream to change the world for the better stemmed from her interactions with Helen and Gregory Granger.

And so when a kindly, old lady with a funny hat and clothes better suited for the bed came to visit and informed her that she, Hermione Granger, was a witch – her very first thought was, of course she was! Her parents always instilled in her that she was special and armed with the knowledge that she was magical, Hermione Granger set off for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ready to change the world for the better.

On 1st September at King's Cross, Hermione nervously stood on the platform at 9 and ¾ taking in all the children, animals, and noises bustling about. Her parents and she stood stock still, a hand firmly clasped to each shoulder as her feet were glued to the ground beneath.

"Well," her father started as he patted her large trunk, full of supplies for the next ten months. "No time like the present. Best be off before you miss your train." Hermione looked up at him. His smile was soft and warm and set her nerves partly at ease.

Turning about, Hermione watched as friends who had been separated by the summer reunited easily on the platform and moved to board the red Express. "But what if they don't like me?" she softly voiced her fear so that only her parents could hear. "From what I read in  _Hogwarts, A History_  some of these families have been attending Hogwarts for generations."

Helen Granger knelt beside her daughter and brushed a wayward curl away from her face. "Look at you in your fancy robes.  _You,"_ her mother pinched her nose in jest, "are about to embark on an amazing adventure, far better than anything you've read about."

Hermione rolled her eyes at her mother's exaggeration, thinking of all the great stories she'd read by literary masters. "I highly doubt that."

Her mother grinned at her daughter's precociousness, as she busied herself with straightening Hermione's newly purchased robes. "Yes, well, how will you know if you don't move forward and find out? You'll never know unless you take the first step, dear."

Her mother stood up and encouraged, Hermione picked up the handle of her trunk. Taking a deep breath, she hugged her parents once more for luck and took off for the train, but not before promising to write.

Elsewhere on the busy platform stood another trio preparing to see their only son off to Hogwarts.

"Remember what we spoke about, Draco," Lucius Malfoy neatly reminded his son as he surveyed the crowd of passing faces for those he recognized and needed to speak with. "The path towards ambition starts now."

"Come now, Lucius. There are certainly more important things than making alliances," Narcissa Malfoy tutted as she once again straightened Draco's collar. The young Malfoy quickly shrugged off her gloved hand from his shoulder. "Have fun and make lots of new friends." She gave him a small peck on the cheek.

"Of the right sort, Narcissa," Lucius amended for her. "Of the right sort."

"I know what I need to do," Draco sighed in between his parents, exasperated. "I'll write you after the feast, okay?" Draco compromised with his mother, eager to join his friends who boarded ahead.

Narcissa and Lucius watched with pride and a touch of sadness as their only son and heir boarded the train with his friends.

Narcissa leaned against Lucius' arm just a fraction. "Have you spoken with Kingsley recently? I imagine he hasn't forgotten the importance of this day," she inquired softly.

It was a moment before Lucius replied, "The DMLE keeps him very busy. He was unusually brief in the last letter I received from him." Lucius kept his eyes on the train, now pulling out of the station.

"I can't imagine he's forgotten after all this time," Narcissa sighed and waved once more to the train as it pulled out of sight. "Perhaps, we should invite him over for tea?"

Lucius pulled and straightened the lapels of his jacket, ready to go about his day now that his son was off. "To what end? What good would it do us to remind him that our son is off to Hogwarts, while he mourns his deceased daughter?"

"I'm sure you can catch up on other Ministry-related matters, but there is something to be said for showing concern. You were friends once, and our families were going to be joined by marriage," she pointed out to her husband, alarmed at his lack of emotion regarding his former Housemate.

"Well he certainly forgot everything you mentioned when he led the DMLE into my home all those years ago, waving around unfounded accusations," Lucius retorted, miffed at the memory and temporary embarrassment it had caused. He lost a good deal of public standing after the first Wizarding war, no thanks to the DMLE. It had taken years of maneuvering and currying favors to regain the Malfoy's lost footing. Now he was determined to see an even greater positon for his family, even more so for his son.

Narcissa moved to stop Lucius in his tracks. Her voice was low but retained its edge. "Your friend was still grieving the loss of his wife and daughter at the time, if you recall. I  _also_  happen to recall that he testified in our favor after the raid. Reach out to him, Lucius." Narcissa waited patiently in his path.

Wanting this to be over quickly, as there was few still lingering on the platform, he nodded. "I'll send him an owl this afternoon."

Back on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione settled into her empty compartment and rubbed her aching wrist. It hurt from waving so, but she had waved until she could no longer see her parents. Nervously, she twisted her charmed bracelet about her wrist as she pondered what to do now. Recalling her mother's words, she put on a brave face and opened the compartment door, in search of other first year students.

Her search ended quickly when Hermione ran into a homely, little boy asking if she had seen his toad, Trevor and was swept up in a search for the missing familiar. They went from door-to-door along the moving train inquiring about the missing toad, until the boy (Neville she learned) paused after opening the door to a certain compartment.

Curious, she peaked over Neville's shoulder as he backed out of the door when a voice stopped them both.

"What do we have here?" A voice full of posturing filled the air.

Situated about the compartment were three elegantly dressed boys and one girl. They held an air about them that screamed what her mother called 'blueblood'. Hermione could see poor Neville whither before them.

"Never mind-" Neville started, quick to back out of the compartment, but Hermione stepped around him and introduced herself.

"I'm Hermione Granger and this is Neville. He's looking for his toad, Trevor. Have you seen him?" she asked the group, very aware of their collective stare upon her person. She tried not to shift under their scrutiny.

The girl, her round-face framed by an expensive haircut, sniffed and turned up her nose. "Eww. Like we would touch a toad, nonetheless give him back to Longbottom here."

A silver-haired boy, no bigger than the girl next to him, narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "Granger? I've never of heard that name," he derided her surname as if it were beneath him.

Hermione narrowed her eyes right back. "It's a respectable name. And you are?" she asked haughtily.

The boy sneered as he appraised her from head-to-toe, obviously coming to a conclusion she had missed. "Draco Malfoy. And you'll do well to respect your betters -"

"Come on, Hermione, let's go," Neville pulled Hermione from the compartment before the Malfoy boy could continue. "They'll be no help to us."

Hermione huffed indignantly as the door closed behind them. "They've no right to be rude like that. Do you know them?"

Neville half-shrugged. "I know of them." He quickly listed off the heirs of Houses Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott and Zabini. "There's not a lot of good history between our families, but it's not your fault. You didn't know."

Hermione quickly absorbed this new information, but could only reply with a rattled, "Honestly, that boy had some nerve," before the duo of youngsters set off for the next compartment.

* * *

Her first few months at Hogwarts were not too unpleasant. Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor after some nonsense with the Sorting Hat questioning if she wanted to follow her father into his House of Slytherin. Thoroughly confused and unsure if there was a Hogwarts House for dentists, the Hat acquiesced and put her into the House of her choosing. She was pleased to join Neville Longbottom and two other acquaintances she had met on the train, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, in Gryffindor. She wrote her parents as much as she could, but there was little time between her classes and the library (and boy, was there ever a library at Hogwarts!).

By time Halloween came around, she was far ahead in her classes and happily fit everything she could in her letters home. The only class she was not excelling in was Flying for First Years. After Madame Hooch recommend she take a rudimentary flying class to catch up to her peers, even Neville's gentle words were not enough to cheer her up. Even those she thought were friendly enough managed to find something they didn't like about her. She tried to let their jeers about her bossiness and ability to answer every single question roll off her back, but by time Ronald Weasley insulted her for attempting to help him perform a spell he should have known, she nearly threw in the towel. It was primary school all over again, except there was no comfort given here when the tears came. Until that unfortunate troll incident, that is.

From there, things miraculously changed after that. Harry and Ron apologized and things seem to perk up once more. And though they eased up on the teasing, they never gave up their good-natured ribbing. Finally her longing to belong, ever since she learned she was adopted, began to shrink; Hermione had friends and a place where she belonged. Even after that nasty business with Professor Quirell at the end of her first year, she did not want to leave Hogwarts. The school held more secrets than  _Hogwarts, A History_ held within its pages, and Harry Potter had a knack for attracting all of them.

She couldn't help but agree with her mum that she was going on the biggest adventure of her life. Every year seemed to bring about something new: the opening of the mysterious Chamber of Secrets, being pertified, staying two steps ahead of the escaped prisoner of Azkaban, being chased by a werewolf, nearly succumbing to Dementors, and her brief wielding of time itself.

Now three years later in her fourth year, a fifteen year-old Hermione walked among the stacks of Hogwarts' library on how to best help Harry yet again find his way out of peril. She was helping Harry prepare for the second task of the Tri-Wizarding Tournament and still silently fumed on how the whole situation had come about. The entire situation stunk of interference of some kind, but she would do what she could to help Harry succeed. Huffing she stuck three additional books to read later into her satchel and began the long trek back to Gryffindor's tower.

Running a hair over riotous curls that seemed to have a mind of its own the longer the day went on, Hermione rounded the corner and walked directly into the back of Draco Malfoy. And apparently the ferret wasn't alone.

She had interrupted Sytherin's newest couple in the midst of a snogging session and inwardly sighed at the predictable insults bound to fly forth now that she had interrupted them.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!" Pansy sneered through kissed-bruised lips, her pink nails tight about her boyfriend's arms. Clearly the witch was upset that Hermione interrupted her snogging session with Malfoy.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the predictable insult. "As if I purposely wanted to see that! You two should slither back to the dungeons before you're caught past curfew," Hermione tried to rise above the obvious bait.

Malfoy wagged a cocky eyebrow at her. "Jealous, Mudblood? I imagine it's lonely with books for company every night. Unless you count that beast on top of your head as a friend."

Keeping her point of view squarely on his grey eyes, dilated from his previous activities, Hermione sought not to stare at his mouth, now smeared with Pansy's lip gloss. "Please," Hermione said and stepped around the two seeking to drown out the insults regarding her hair, inferior blood, and desirability by hurrying her steps up the stairs.

Thoroughly tired, she trudged past the portrait door and towards her dorm hopeful for some peace and quiet. But she would find no such thing.

"What are you three doing?" Hermione asked suspiciously finding Lavender Brown, Parvarti and Padma Patil wide-awake and huddled around Pavarti's poster bed whispering and conspiring over something hidden between them.

Lavender gave Hermione a dreamy smile. "We're planning our outfits for the Yule Ball. The whole school's gone mad with trying to secure a date." Besides her, the Patil twins nodded in eager agreement.

Hermione chuckled, as she dropped her heavy satchel on top of her trunk. "I think you mean only fourth through seventh years are caught up in the madness," she corrected Lavender, as they would be the only ones who could attend the upcoming dance. "And who cares what you wear?"

Lavender sighed as she turned another page in the latest issue of  _Witch Weekly_  before them. All three huddled over it as if it contained the Holy Grail. "I suppose being Muggle-born you wouldn't understand," Lavender explained. "But futures are being planned as we speak. Who you take to the Ball can very well be the person you end up  _marrying_ ," she emphasized to a round of giggles from the Patil twins.

Hermione laughed outright. Here she was planning how to save her friend from certain death while her roommates planned and arranged marriages. "That's preposterous! We're only fourteen. You can't possibly tell me one night will determine who you spend the rest of your life with."

Padma shook her head pitifully at Hermione's ignorance. "Things are done differently among purebloods, Hermione. Especially within the old families."

"You mean, like an arranged marriage?" Hermione postured. When the three girls nodded silently, she continued aghast, "That's positively barbaric."

Pavarti recited a line as if from memory. "Daughters are raised knowing their fathers will secure a prosperous union for them. It's a way a life."

Hermione sat down on her bed, eyebrow raised skeptically in question. "And all that will happen from taking a date to a dance? For one night?"

Lavender reached, suddenly not happy with having to explain to her dream. It made it seem less real when she said it aloud. "Well… possibly. With the hols approaching, one may receive a token or some sort of favor."

Hermione pushed a stray curl behind her ear, still trying to understand when a flash of gold caught her roommate's eye.

"Like the one you got, Hermione!" Lavender rushed forward to pull Hermione's arm out for all to see. The Patil twins cooed over the bracelet. "This is absolutely beautiful. I've been meaning to ask. Who gave it to you?" Lavender asked in a conspiring voice as if Hermione had something to hide.

Hermione pulled back her arm and rolled down her sleeve. "No one gave it to me. I mean, it's mine. I've had it since I was an infant."

Lavender wasn't completely satisfied and pried further. "Are you sure about that? It looks very valuable and traditional to be a plain, old gift."

Hermione frowned. "I don't see why not."

Giving up on the topic, Lavender returned back to her magazine. "Don't get defensive, I was just making an observation. Besides I'm sure you don't have to worry about a date to the Ball, anyways. If someone saw that on your arm, they'd probably think you were already betrothed. Well … you know if you weren't a Muggle-born and all." That caused the girls to laugh amongst themselves.

Having enough girl-chat for the evening, Hermione held her charmed wrist close and made her way to the washroom. She'd long accepted the bracelet as part of her. Come to think of it, the bracelet never grew tight on her wrist and was always the perfect size. Moving to stand before the bathroom mirror Hermione stared at the one trinket that adorned the bracelet: a small lightning bolt.

Suddenly, she wondered why she never took it off; strangely she felt compelled to keep it on always. Her parents had explained to her that her biological parents must've have bestowed it upon her because she had been adopted with it on. Nothing they did could remove it and as an infant, Hermione seemed to get upset whenever anyone tried, so her parents just stopped trying. Maybe she just wanted to hold onto the one thing from her biological parents?

But something urged her to examine her bracelet more closely. The fact that the bracelet had grown in size with her from infancy to young adulthood was more than enough to give her pause. Fingering the golden links, she decided the next time she visited the library for assistance on Harry's task, she would be sure to do more research on emblems and magical trinkets. She didn't believe the bracelet to be magical, but it wouldn't hurt to do some digging.

But for now as she took in her reflection, she supposed she should ask Ginny or Lavender on how to go about securing a dress. Her mother had sent money she had since converted to galleons. Now would be a good of time as ever to put it to use.

After three tries to gather all of her brown and frizzy curls into one hand, Hermione held her hair up and twisted before the mirror to see how she looked. She imagined herself with exotic eyes, like the Patil twins, in place of her light brown eyes and fancy robes she was sure that girls like Pansy Parkinson wore.

She sighed as she let her curls fall back around her face. Perhaps, she should do something with her hair too.


	3. A Dance Before Death Returns

Hermione asked him to accompany her to the Yule Ball. With butterflies in her stomach, she thought he would do her this kindness seeing how none had asked her.

It wasn't until a big grin spread across Neville's face that she knew he would take her. Elated and with a promise that he would meet her at the portrait door shortly before the Ball began, Hermione planned to go dress shopping with Ginny in Hogsmeade. The youngest Weasley was disappointed she would not be attending seeing as no fourth years had asked her, but she gained what joy she could by helping Hermione find a dress.

It was silly, the notion that everything had to be perfect: the shoes, the dress, accessories and her hair. Ginny had convinced Hermione to pay a visit to a new hairdresser salon that had opened across from Honeydukes. The result was seventy-five galleons spent, new dress robes, new shoes and a sleek, curly up-do that took no less than three hours. Ginny lost on the accessories bit, as Hermione chose only to wear a pair of heart-shaped studs her mum sent and her charm bracelet.

Quickly, it was a few minutes to seven and time to meet Neville. She had butterflies in her stomach the moment the portrait entrance swung open to reveal Neville in his fancy robes. He looked quite dapper and the two teenagers smiled awkwardly at each other as they took sight of the other.

"Wow, Hermione. You look amazing!"

Part of her did not want to smile, lest she appeared like Lavender and the other girls felled by a single compliment, but she would be lying if she didn't acknowledge that it meant something coming from him.

She gave him a half-smile and lowered her eyes to the floor, overcome with a brief sense of insecurity that fled with the exclamation. "Thank you, Neville. You look quite dashing yourself," she replied sincerely.

He blushed at the compliment and offered his elbow. The ruffled fringes of her light blue dress robes flitted about like silk. Her skin felt hot despite the winter chill that seeped into the castle, and as they walked down each successive landing, disturbingly it began harder and harder to breathe.

Harry and the other Tri-Wizarding champions had already entered by time the young couple made their way to the entrance of the Great Hall. She kept reminding herself to breathe, she was the same girl that had been attending Hogwarts for four years. One night where they dressed in fancy robes shouldn't be any different. But still …

"Is that Hermione Granger?!"

She pulled Neville's elbow a bit closer to her person the moment she heard others whispering about the couple. Neville led them further into the Hall that had been decorated with snow, Yule trees, and tinsel. Her free hand tucked a curl behind her ear as she sought not to turn her head toward the students currently whispering and gawking about her.

Thankfully Neville distracted her with an invitation to dance.

"Thanks," she beamed breathlessly up at her friend. "I'd love to!"

Neville was an amazing date, he was kind, the perfect gentleman and stepped on her toes only once. She caught glimpses of Ron and his date, Lavender, on the floor and was pleasantly surprised to see Harry with her roommate, Pavarti. During breaks between the music, the girls simultaneously gushed over her dress and straightened hair while Ron and Harry paid compliments in their own unique way.

All in all, Hermione remained on a high all evening. She danced and ate, and danced some more among the charmed snowfall the Great Hall's ceiling produced for them.

A few hours later, Hermione found herself recovering at the table with the Beaubaxtons' champion, Fleur Delacour. The two exchanged awkward glances, before the French beauty suddenly spoke up. "You 'ave ze most alluring eyes," Fleur cooed at her at a lull between songs. The night was winding down and only a few couples remained on the dance floor. Others had retired for the evening or left for places couples usually do after such events.

"Oh…why thank you."

The French witch ran a light hand through the few curls that fell from Hermione's updo. "Tell me, do you have any relatives in France?"

Leaning away so that Fleur's hand no longer touched her hair, Hermione replied, "I don't think so." She wasn't exactly comfortable sharing her private history with the part-Veela, despite the witch's sincere expression.

The witch shrugged. "Zis puzzling zis all. You remind me of some of my family."

That perked Hermione's attention. "In France?" she clarified.

" _Oui_. Ze cheekbones and facial features, zey are remarkably si-me-lar," Fleur confirmed as she studied Hermione's face. "And you have the Delacour ability to stop a man in his tracks. That Delacour _je ne sais quoi_."

Hermione blushed until she was sure her entire face and neck flamed red. It was markedly different from Fleur's elegant laugh that exposed her long and graceful neck.

"It zis true. Every boy here tonight has been unable to keep zer eyes off of you. You 'ave hypnotized zem all, Hermione."

"Um… wow, thank you." Hermione bit her bottom lip, hesitant to agree with the champion's assertion, but even more so to share the fact that she was adopted. "But I'm afraid I'm not aware of any familial ties to France."

Fleur nodded, before being escorted back to the dance floor once more.

Ron joined her at the table then. His red hair whipped around his face and he turned, searching for someone. He sank into the chair next to Hermione and then slid slower as if he were hiding from someone.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, amused by his antics.

"Quiet! I'm hoping she doesn't spot me with you. Damn it!" He swore while sinking comically further into his seat. "There she is. No – don't look!" he implored.

"Who – your date? Ronald, are you hiding from Lavender?"

"Yeah, is that so hard to imagine?" he asked from his slumped position.

Hermione thought back to her roommate's prior conversation about the Yule Ball and future marriages. She chuckled at Ron's obvious ignorance. "No, it's just funny I'd suppose."

"Yeah, well at least I was the one to ask her to the Ball," he sulked glumly.

Hermione turned towards Ron, incensed. "And what is  _that_  supposed to mean!?"

"Guys, keep it down? Others are starting to notice," Harry interrupted the impending argument as he sauntered up behind his two friends.

"Neville told us you were the one to ask him," Ron replied from nearly beneath the table. "The bloke's supposed to ask the girl, Hermione," he stated as if she were a first year.

"We're friends. What's wrong with me asking him?" She crossed her arms defiantly, daring Ron to answer her question incorrectly.

"You've embarrassed him, is all. He's too nice to tell you, but blimey, Hermione, you got it all backwards."

"There's nothing wrong with asking my friend to the dance! Your entire way of thinking is wrong! Enjoy your date, Ronald!"  _And the life said date probably was planning from this moment forward_ , she thought to herself.

Hermione stood then and the attention of those nearby, including Lavender, once more fell on her. Moving around the table, she headed quickly for the exit and was about to leave when Neville intercepted her. "Hermione, are you going somewhere?"

"Have I embarrassed you, Neville?" she rounded on him, catching her friend off guard.

"What?"

She gestured for him to follow her into the noticeably quiet area just outside the doors and away from the party-goers. Taking a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts from Ron's earlier accusation, she repeated her question. "By asking you to the Ball? Some seem to imply that I've might have caused you embarrassment by asking you to the Ball?" she left the question open.

Neville blushed as he scuffed the toe of his shiny black shoes against the stone floor. "I'm honored you asked me, Hermione. Truly, I am..."

Hermione finished for him, "But I'm not who you wanted to go with initially…"she finished with a dejected slump of her shoulders. "Oh Neville, I'm so sorry. You must think me so silly."

"Well, yes. But no! No. Nothing like that. I don't think you're silly at all. You're one of my best friends and I've had a great time tonight. But I meant about who I really wanted to go to the dance with… because … You see, I don't think-he-would've-said-yes," he rushed all in one breath.

Hermione looked up with tears in her eyes at her first friend as she struggled to comprehend what he had just implied to her. " _He_?"

Neville looked at his shoes, an endearing red gracing his entire face. Hermione smiled as one tear spilled from her eye from the onslaught of emotions: fear she had upset some traditional, wizarding order; anger at Ron's failure to understand modern feminism; and joy and honor that her friend would feel safe enough to confide in her his true feelings.

"Neville!" she cried as she threw her arms around him. "You never told me you held a crush on someone." She was sure not make mention of gender lest someone was eavesdropping. She would protect her friend until he was comfortable enough to share his feelings first.

"Well I wasn't completely sure at first."

She gave him a dazzling smile. "I understand. And here I was acting silly over some slight I thought I'd caused."

"Yeah, pretty silly way to end the night."

"Well it certainly doesn't have to be the end of the night for you."

"But I thought you were leaving?"

"Please don't leave on my account. Stay," she implored him. "Have fun and see if you can get a conversation in with said 'crush.' But I want a full update come New Years, Neville." She smiled at him.

"But why aren't you staying?"

"I think if I see Ronald Weasley once more this evening, I very well may thrash him. And besides, my feet are killing me in these god-forsaken shoes."

"Thank you, Hermione." Neville leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "You truly are brilliant."

Hermione watched as her friend made his way back inside before she removed her heels, which had grown from uncomfortable to the point of pain, and slowly made her way down the corridor past suits of armor and paintings.

"Oi! You up there," a slightly slurred voice called from behind her.

Hermione hesitated on whether she should keep walking forward or willingly turn and face the incoming punishment. "What do you want, Malfoy? I have no time for your sophomoric jokes."

"Granger, is that you?" Malfoy chuckled as he came into view. He looked dashing in his perfectly tailored robes, Hermione couldn't deny him that. "Color me surprised. I didn't recognize you without that mangled wire you called hair." Her eyes narrowed; there went any further positive thought she may have attributed to the Malfoy heir. "I thought you'd be somewhere with your date. Don't tell me Longbottom's dumped you? Pathetic that you can't even hold the attention of a wanker like Longbottom, even all dolled as you were."

Pushed beyond her emotional limit, Hermione whipped out her wand from of the pocket she'd magically sewn onto the dress and pointed it at the boy's throat. Her eyes glistened with tears and anger at the awful end to her evening. It had all started out so promising. "Remember what I did to you without a wand at the end of third year, Malfoy? Do you really want to try me with one in hand?" She hissed as the tip of her wand pushed into the underside of his jaw.

Backed into a wall, the boy visibly swallowed, fear palpable across his features as he eyed her wand and the seriousness of her stance. The threat properly conveyed, Hermione started to pull back her wand, when a hand halted her from further movement. With one hand, Malfoy held her forearm tight in his grasp. She gasped at the sudden contact.

"Malfoy, let me go!" she hissed as she struggled against him. Without her shoes on, the Slytherin towered over her. Despite his lean frame, there was a strength there she hadn't known. He struck an imposing figure over her.

But he did not advance; he was mesmerized by something. Their breaths co-mingling, Hermione followed his gaze the charm bracelet sat just above her wrist. Hermione watched as he dragged his line of sight from her eyes back to her bracelet in quick succession. As if just noticing he was still holding onto her arm, he abruptly let her go. Hermione staggered back, a pink imprint of where his hand had been bloomed onto her skin.

"Where did you get that?" Malfoy questioned sharply, his eyes pointed and suspicious.

Hermione scoffed as she tightened her grip about her vine wood wand, "My wand? If you mean go on some tirade about how I stole my magic, please spare me…"

"The bracelet, you daft bint. Did you steal it?" He approached her personal space as if he had all the right to in the world. Placing her hands on his expensive robes, she pushed against his chest.

Shaking her head in indignation, she clipped angrily, "It's none of your business!" Gathering her dress skirts, she picked up her shoes and swiftly headed for Gryffindor Tower, the night now completely ruined.

* * *

The day after Christmas, Hermione spent the day in library thankful for its peaceful solitude. A light snowfall begun late in the night and had ramped up now that the sun broke over the Scottish landscape. She really wished for a cup of coffee as she opened a rather large tome, but Madame Pince would have her head if she caught her with a beverage of any sort near such valuable works.

Leafing through the yellowed pages, Hermione yawned as she read about magical detection charms. Sleep did not come to her last night when she retired after such a tumultuous evening. Ron had ruined what could have been a pleasant evening, Neville's revelation, Draco had been a pushy git, and something about Fleur's words sent shivers done her spine. All in all, it made for a rather restless evening and at first light, while her roommates slumbered on, she slipped into a pullover and jeans and left for the library.

Closing the first book, Hermione opened a new one. Leafing through the French selection of magical families, she sniggered at the history of the Malfoy family, as well as true meaning behind the Malfoy family name, before she landed on the very French Delacour family. Briefly, the book listed their marked traits of blonde hair, Veela ancestry, and famous Delacours throughout history. Most seemingly settled in Wizarding parts of France, but some had emigrated to Africa or the Americas. Apparently their house words were ' _Grace a la lumiere et de l'amour_ ' and their family's insignia was a rose in bloom.

Turning her wrist about, Hermione studied the jagged bolt of pure gold. There was a tiny jewel in the crux of the bolt, possibly a small diamond. There definitely was not a hidden rose anywhere on the charm. Feeling a bit dashed as the small bloom of hope in her gut began to fade, Hermione closed the cover of  _A Selection of Magical Families, Moste Important_.

"Morning, Hermione," a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Hermione lifted her head at the new voice that had joined her. "Oh, morning Fay," she greeted her fellow Gryffindor, Fay Dunbar.

"What're looking at?"

"Just some light reading on the history of French wizarding families. I'm surprised to see you here after such a late night– did you enjoy your time with …?" Hermione trailed off, forgetting the name of the Drumstrang boy Fay attended the Yule Ball with.

"Well,  _he_  certainly enjoyed last night if you get my drift," the witch remarked with a wry grin.

Hermione inwardly cringed at the crude innuendo, but outwardly sighed in understanding. She shared in Fay's disappointment. "It should've been a wonderful evening for all of us, shame it had to be ruined like that."

"I saw you with your date, Neville. He seems like a nice bloke – did something happen?"

"Oh no, he was a perfect gentleman. He even gave me a kiss goodnight on the cheek," Hermione blushed as she remembered their parting words. "It all went sort of downhill from there."

"Ah, I see." Fay noticed the books spread before them on the table. "Say, why are studying magical families anyway? I don't remember that topic on any upcoming exams."

"Just curious is all," Hermione replied, somewhat defensively. "Interestingly, I learned some of the older families have insignias and house words they carry to this day. For example, the Delacour family is a rose in bloom with the words 'Through love and light'. It reminds me of the noble houses from medieval times."

"Yea, these purebloods love their traditions. I guess it makes them feel more important than us Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns with our common names, you know?"

Hermione made a non-committal noise. "Do you know how many of these families had words and insignias? The French selection only listed a few, slightly less than twenty, if I recall."

"Hmm, I don't know too much about the French or other countries. But here, there's twenty-eight of 'em. They call themselves," she made air-quotes as she named them, "the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight'."

"How exclusive," Hermione harrumphed sarcastically.

"They fancy themselves the last of the truly pure-blood lineage, but I've heard they've all intermingled with common magical folk from time to time. Although they would have you believing otherwise."

"Oh, I'm sure. How positively scandalous," Hermione agreed with a smirk as she imagined Malfoy dallying with a Muggle-born. The steam pouring from his father's ears would be worse than consuming a Pepper-Up potion.

"Well, I'd better get that book I came here for before I forget. Don't stay here too long, Hermione," Fay teased though it would be in vain.

Hermione watched her roommate leave. Well, she had identified France's wizarding families and insignias. She could start on Britain's Sacred Twenty-Eight. Rolling the parchment detailing her notes on French families, she set out for a book on the Sacred Twenty-Eight with every intention to pour through them after the New Year. She would hunt down every lead if she had to, no matter how small.

Between her schoolwork and Harry's tasks, Hermione deduced that her charm bracelet was indeed magical. She'd found a detection spell just before Harry's second task and was elated that the spell had reported traces of magic about the golden chain. Ecstatic at this new find, she pondered the ramifications of such a discovery. Shortly before her adoption at one year-old, someone had placed this magical charm around her wrist. They must've been someone important, possibly a parent or loved one. The question was, did the person who secured the bracelet know the charm was magical, or just some odd trinket? Were they themselves magical? If they were, Hermione could very well be a half-blood or possibly more. All of these possibilities floated about her and quickly, she ran into a dead end. She simply needed additional leads.

She wished she could leave Hogwarts for a moment to do some research at the facility she was adopted from. She was almost certain that additional clues lay hidden within her files, but as it was, she was bound at Hogwarts until the end of the year and promised to see Harry through the conclusion of the Tournament.

Additionally, her research into Britain's magical families continued as well. After the New Year, she had read her way through the Abbot and Black families. She'd covered Lestrange and Longbottom by April and just before the final and third task, she had started on Selwyn.

"Merlin, I need a break," she said as she pushed back from her desk, rubbing sore eyes. Night was just starting to fall outside her dorm's window. Eyeing the jar that sat on her desk, she quickly opened the lid and dropped a few leaves in to satisfy the seemingly quiet beetle within. The beetle didn't move much but Hermione knew it was carefully listening to every word she saying. "Is this how you feel when you're writing to ruin other people's lives?"

The beetle stood stock still on the tiny branch.

Of course there were be no response, but it didn't matter because it was time for Harry's third and final task. Her roommates bade her to come on or she would miss the opening and honestly, she was thankful that the whole mess of a tournament would be over after tonight.

Making her way to the stands with the rest of Gryffindor, she would have the unfortunate luck to run into Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins. They walked just behind she and Ginny; their "Potter Stinks" buttons fashioned brightly to their robes.

Parkinson and Crabbe teased Harry's performance, and openly wished for his death, sneered about how he had cheated the entire way through before predictably teasing Ginny and she just a few paces before them. After they had their fill, Malfoy lead Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle around her group before Ginny could turn around and hex them.

Hermione followed the blond's head as his group parted ways with hers for their seats amongst the stands. How odd, not once did Malfoy say anything. In fact, he hadn't spoken to her at all it since their encounter after the Yule Ball. But before she could think on it, Dumbledore amplified his voice to announce the start of the third and final task.

* * *

An aristocratic voice interrupted the deep concentration Kingsley Shacklebolt had been immersed in for the past two hours. "It's a beautiful afternoon and yet here you sit, buried beneath piles of bureaucratic processes and memos."

Kingsley lifted his head to see that Lucius Malfoy had entered his office. Acknowledging the wizard with a lifted brow, Kingsley returned back to his work. He often found that when he was on a productive roll, time more often than not would slip away from him. He had been known to miss a meal or two in favor of solving an important case.

Lucius continued in absence of a response, "The entire Department has left for the evening, Kingsley. Why are you still here?"

Kingsley sighed and laid down his quill, finally addressing the man as he sat opposite his desk. "Why are you here? Have you a crime to report, Lucius?"

Lucius stared at the Auror for the space of a few heartbeats before replying, "It is has been too long, my friend. If I didn't know any better I'd suspect you've been ignoring my owls on purpose."

Kingsley frowned and offered a sincere apology. "Please give my regrets to Narcissa. My schedule has been quite busy." He stared pointedly at the Malfoy Lord as more seconds passed between them. "There have been increased activity ever since the Dark Mark was spotted over the World Cup in August. Have you any credible leads as to who were behind these attacks?" He fixed Lucius with a pointed stare.

Lucius shrugged, as he laid his cane across his knee. "I'm sure the Ministry knows more than I do, whispers of names," he flippantly waved a hand. "The usual suspects, I'm sure."

Kingsley shook his head at Lucius' non-committal response. "It feels as it does before, Lucius. I'm sure you know that." Lucius gave a scarce nod before Kingsley continued, "If you have anything to tell me, anything at all, you know you can. Because you must know, I will not be there to bail you out again," he said with a quiet finality. "The Minister's enacted a zero-tolerance policy for anyone in connection with events stemming from the World Cup. I can assist you and your family should you choose to share anything with me now, but know that this chance will not present itself again should something else happen once you leave this room."

Lucius gave a small smirk. "There is nothing to tell."

Kingsley sat back in his chair, suddenly world-weary and disappointed at where their once similar paths had led them. "You know, this isn't where I envisioned we'd be today."

There was a measure of a small smile as Lucius sat back in his seat, mimicking Kingsley's posture. "What did you envision then? The two of us playing for Puddlemere United side-by-side as we did for Slytherin all those years ago?"

Kingsley rested his elbow on the arm of his chair as he regarded his old friend. "I wouldn't imagine we be in so poor of shape, for one."

"I'm in the best shape of my life," Lucius smartly disagreed, though a hint of a smile peeked through.

Kingsley scoffed in reply, "You drink too much and it shows."

Lucius studied the assortment of objects Kingsley had collected from prior missions on the shelf beside his desk. "We all have our demons to hide."

Kingsley paused, reflective. "Yes, I suppose we do." He looked down at his hands before inquiring, "How is Draco?"

Lucius was a proud man and knew it was impolite to boast in public, but he covered it well. "He is doing well. He should be further ahead in class standings than where he currently is, but he complains that a Muggle-born girl outranks him."

"Complains just like his father, you mean?" Kingsley replied with a hearty chuckle.

"With Dumbledore's obvious favoritism towards Muggles and the like, it's no wonder my son is second to her."

Kingsley was thoroughly impressed. "I must meet this girl who has bested the Malfoy heir. But I do not think you have room to talk about complaints. You opened an investigation into Hogwarts' governance over a hippogriff!"

"A trifle little thing, I assure you." Lucius thought back to the time he met Harry Potter's Mudblood right before the start of second year and dismissed the girl with a wave. "I've always maintained it's time the Governors installed a new Headmaster, lest others like my son fall victim to Dumbledore's incompetence. And I still stand by that assertion."

"I can file a formal complaint, if you'd like," Kingsley chuckled dryly.

"No need. I see the DMLE is keeping you quite busy." Lucius stood, their brief meeting coming to an end. "And I daresay more work will inevitably find its way to your desk."

Kingsley narrowed his eyes at Lucius as the man made to leave. "What do you mean 'more work'?" Kingsley, ever the Slytherin, knew that Lucius hinted at something. The Malfoy Lord knew how to mince words with the best of them.

"Nothing untoward, I assure you," Lucius replied with the briefest of smile as he picked up his cane and made for the door. "Do try to enjoy the summer evening, Kingsley." Lucius departed from the Auror's office, the Mark beneath his robes wrenching with pain. He bit his bottom lip in effort to mask it and did all he could to compose himself as he walked briskly through the halls of the Ministry.

The pain reached an unbearable level by time he reached the Floo network on the main level and he slipped his hand inside his cloak pocket, finding the smooth but familiar mask he had not worn for over a decade. He hesitated in his steps as he thought of Kingsley; the Auror office would no doubt be in a flurry of activity tonight and honestly, he wagered it might be the last time he saw the man face-to-face. They were such a long way from when they were as youngsters flying for the green and silver.

Lucius shifted the mask stealthily from one hand to the other as easily as he shifted thoughts; he would be wearing it once more as he left the Ministry for the nearest apparition point: his destination, Little Hangleton. The Dark Lord called to his Death Eaters once more.


	4. Emmeline (Part I)

_24th March, 1995_

_My Dearest Son,_

_It is so good to hear from you. But I am surprised at your last correspondence. I cannot fathom why you would suddenly take an interest in the dealings of House Shacklebolt? Yes, it's true your father and Kingsley Shacklebolt were roommates in Slytherin. They were very close once, but time and events have placed a strain on their relationship._

_In this case, the past is certainly best left in the past…_

Draco Malfoy looked up from the last letter he had received from his mother. Since its arrival in March, he had read it over and over trying to decipher any hidden clues and meanings among the elegantly scripted words.

No matter, soon enough he would see his mother face-to-face and ask his questions in person. He folded the parchment and pocketed it in his inner jacket pocket as the Hogwarts Express lurched across a particularly rickety piece of track. He frowned; the entire train was covered with a sodding blanket as students grappled individually over the death of a Hogwarts student. Suddenly, the compartment felt too stuffy; he could hear a group of girls in the compartment beside him crying over the Diggory boy's death. He decided it was time for a walkabout.

Cedric Diggory went and got himself killed at the conclusion of the third and final task and now there whispers that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned from the shadows to do it. All courtesy of St. Potter, as if his word was absolute. As Draco walked amongst the train corridor, he could hear the simpering cries of Hufflepuffs and other students amongst the compartments. Even he knew that things would change after Potter returned bloodied, dead body in tow.

After Potter had returned with a deceased Diggory, things moved swiftly after that. There was a memorial service and the professors ushered students on the Hogwarts Express as soon as they could to clear the school.

Suddenly, Draco noticed Hermione Granger was walking toward him, her head down and solemn like the others. His mother's words weighed heavy in his breast pocket as she approached.

She sighed as she lifted her head, her eyes weary from second-hand grief. "Excuse me, Malfoy. The sooner you move, the sooner we can both be far from the other."

Draco took in her appearance. Ever since the Yule Ball, it was as if her curls never reverted back to the bushy-state he was accustomed to. They were elongated and floated down her back. It was a marked improvement, not that he would ever admit it to the swotty know-it-all. "Are you crying, Granger?" he sneered as her face came closer into view. Sure enough her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose was splotchy with color.

She looked aghast at his question. "A student at our school was killed for no reason! Don't tell me even you aren't affected?!"

Of course he was, not that he would tell her. "I have plenty of other things to do with my time," Draco drawled hoping the act would be enough.

Granger shook her head sadly at him. "Of course you do. Move aside."

Draco blocked her attempt to side-step him. "Going to spend the holiday with your Muggle parents, then? Satisfy my curiosity, Granger, what do Muggles do for fun?" he said with a teasing smirk.

Granger rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheek, wiping away the last bit of tears. Her eyes were still red, but at least she wasn't sniveling anymore. "Why on earth should I tell you? If you're so interested, perhaps you should take Muggle Studies." Thinking that would satisfy his curiosity, she moved to step around him once more.

But Draco moved to block her second attempt to pass. "No need."

She gave up, exasperated, and crossed her arms.  _Perfect,_  he thought. He had her attention now.

"Oh, because you know them so well?" she replied with a raised brow.

He gave his most cavalier shrug. "I've had enough experience to last me a lifetime."

Granger shook her head at the pointless conversation, rolled her eyes, and made to push her way past him for a third time.

"Your parents, Granger," Draco looked down his nose at her. "Anyone with common sense could deduce they're not your biological parents."

She paused to give him an evil glare that would have made her friends back up in fear, but not him. "Your point being…?" She disturbingly mimicked their Potions professor's signature drawl.

He shrugged, nonchalant. "Just curious. They don't look like the sort able to afford that trinket on your wrist."

Draco noticed the slight tics that gave away her growing anger: her eyes narrowed to the point of slits, her hands balled into fists as they fell to her sides. Merlin, after four years was he starting to memorize Granger's physical responses to anger? He chuckled to himself at his ability to rile the Gryffindor's blood.

"I knew your ignorance had no bounds, Malfoy. But you've truly outdone yourself. Stand. Aside," she whispered pointed and dangerously.

He held an arm out on the side of the train, blocking her attempt to walk down the narrow hallway. "I don't think I'm finished."

"Oh yes, you are!" she huffed in mounting anger.

"What's the deal with that bracelet, Granger, hmm? Did you steal it? Mummy and Daddy barter their life earnings for a present for their darling adopted daughter?" he pushed and pushed, watching as her face contorted briefly into hurt and then rage, her eyes a light with a building fury.

He had a moment to watch tears pool in honey-colored eyes before a blur sliced across his vision.

"That is it!"

A millisecond later Draco felt the pain, sharp and pinching across his left cheekbone as his head was forcefully turned to the side. "How dare you?" she positively shrieked into his left ear. "You … you.. pompous, ignorant, spoilt little boy! How dare you insinuate that my parents couldn't afford the best for their daughter! And yes, they are  _my_  parents in every sense of the word. And I'll have you know this bracelet is much as mine as is that gaudy ring you wear on your left hand!"

He took one second to compose himself, looked around to see if anyone had witnessed that before he turned to match her glare. Both stared hard at the other; Draco longed to reach for his wand. Only the sound of their ragged breathing could be heard over the rickets of the train wheels below. Draco would have struck the Muggle-born back, but through gritted teeth replied instead, "Yes, but mine is a family heirloom, bestowed to me rightfully upon birth. Yours is a stolen memento that is beneath your station."

"Go to hell, Malfoy!" Granger forcefully pushed him, but not before he saw a few tears fall in earnest.

Malfoy watched her curls bounce every which way as she practically marched away from him, his cheek still smarting from her slap. She wouldn't possibly get that angry over something that wasn't meaningful and he had purposefully touched a nerve by mentioning her parents.

He swallowed the nausea that rose in his throat as a sinking suspicion filled his gut. Was Granger related to House Shacklebolt? It was time to push his mother on these mysterious past events involving his father and House Shacklebolt. Something wasn't quite adding up because how in the world had Granger come into ownership of a charm boasting the House's emblem?

He pushed that nagging feeling away and repeated his earlier notion: none of this made sense.

He repeated the notion until he had de-boarded the Express and side-alonged back to the Manor with his mother in tow. His mother informed that his father was away 'on business' and would be returning soon.

Later they sat down to dinner, the two of them alone at a table meant for twenty. Waiting until his mother had asked all the usual end-of-school year questions, he started with a question of his own. "Mother, what can you tell me about Father's relationship with House Shacklebolt?"

Narcissa's spoon wavered in the air, but she took her bite and swallowed before responding. "Your father tries his best to maintain relationships with most of the influential families. House Shacklebolt is one of them."

He took a bite from his plate, pretending to sound indifferent. "You wrote that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Father were close?"

"They were."

"But they are no longer?" he pressed.

"I'm not privy to the status of every one of your father's relationships, Draco," Narcissa answered with a twinge of annoyance at her son's persistence.

He swallowed, before he continued, "Was it the war?"

Narcissa looked at him for one long moment before she lowered her eyes. "Why are you asking this?"

"I'm just curious as to why Kingsley Shacklebolt has never been to the Manor. I can't recall a time when he's ever visited, during the holidays or otherwise. And just about all of father's friends, especially members of the older families, have stopped by at one time or another."

"I imagine Kingsley would not wish to visit the Manor, Draco. There was much ado after the first wizarding war and Kingsley worked for the DMLE."

"Father always told me we had friends at the Ministry. Was he one of them?" Draco pried.

"Draco, I  _do_  insist you wait for your father to return to continue this inquiry," she drove home her point.

But Draco was curious and found his mother could very rarely refuse him, so he pressed on past her warning, "One last question. Does Kingsley have any heirs? I mean my primary tutelage never mentioned an heir when we studied the old families."

Narcissa didn't immediately respond, but her face was telling enough. His mother was cunning and she could hide her emotions with the best of them, but she had a tell. She was surprised, and a touch of sadness graced her features as she thought through a response.

Seeking not to further hurt his mother, Draco quickly ended his line of questioning. "Never mind. I'll save the remaining inquiry for Father when he returns. I apologize for bringing up the past."

Narcissa sighed, replacing her utensil for a goblet of elf-made wine instead. "No, no. You cannot help your curiosity. To answer your question, yes, Kingsley was married. To Marie Delacour. Your father was an attendant in the wedding party," a small smile graced her features as she looked away at some spot on the table, lost in memory.

Draco smirked at the thought of his father standing beside a friend at a wedding. It made him seem human, more so than the imposing figure Draco had grown to admire. "He never told me that."

"Your father keeps many things close to the vest." Narcissa took a sip of wine and sighed as her tale continued, "Kingsley and Marie were married shortly before your Father and I. And following suit, they had a daughter a few months before we had you. She was a beautiful baby."

Draco held his breath; his heart skipping a beat. This was it. "Was?"

Narcissa nodded as she stared into her goblet. "Yes, unfortunately Marie and their daughter were lost during the first great war. Kingsley admitted to Lucius afterward everything happened, that he and his wife had been arguing. Marie wanted to take their daughter to her family estate in France; it was dangerous for those on the wrong side of the war at the time. I guess Marie was concerned that their family could become a target. Shortly after that, the papers reported her and the babe missing. Kingsley was … troubled at the double loss. I don't think he's ever quite recovered." She took a generous sip of wine.

Draco was pensive as he reflected on what his mother had shared. He very much tried to picture his father and Kinglsey Shacklebolt standing side by side at a wedding. Both families would have shared in their joy at the birth of their first-born. "I see. And the girl, what was her name?"

Narcissa gave a sweet, yet sad smile to Draco. What she said next caused him to improperly drop his dinner fork.

"A beautiful name to match our beautiful, new god-daughter. Emmeline. Emmeline Joie Shacklebolt."

* * *

"Sirius, I was wondering. Could I ask you a question?" Hermione had just arrived to number 12 Grimmauld Place with Ron. It was the absolute thick of summer and she knew she should get upstairs and apologize to Harry for not writing all summer, per Dumbledore's orders. But she couldn't help but stop in front of the door when she saw Sirius inside reading a book.

His smile was inviting and sincere. "Sure, love. What's on your mind?"

She entered the room, and with a quick look over her shoulder, set a muffling charm about the small room. "I've been doing some reading lately… on the Sacred Twenty Eight." Hermione watched as slow recognition morphed into disgust. She wondered what memory had brought such an emotion forward.

"Why on earth would you want to bore yourself with that drivel?" he voiced instead.

She took a fortifying breath before carefully speaking the words, " ' _With all my might_ '."

Sirius's face scrunched in confusion before the daily drills he received as a child came back to him. He recognized those House words. They belonged to, "House Shacklebolt," he said aloud. "… But I don't understand?"

"I-I figured it had to mean something," Hermione stammered, fearful that if she didn't rush forward with it now, she'd never have the courage to again. She consciously twisted her bracelet about her arm, her eyes lowered in insecurity. "I discovered last year it must've been magically charmed to grow as I did. The detection spell I uncovered confirmed my suspicions. You see, I've had it since before I can remember, my parents seem to think someone close to me, my biological parents possibly, gave it to me before I was adopted."

Sirius gave her a gentle smile as he interrupted her nervous speech. "Hermione, love, I'm not sure I quite follow you."

Hermione thrust her wrist towards him, her palm turned up. "Why would Malfoy recognize its significance before I did? When I read about the family this insignia belonged to, I thought it was either a cruel joke or a miracle of some sort! I even wrote a letter to Neville this summer asking him what was House Shacklebolt's insignia? Do you know what he wrote back?" she approached Sirius as he took in the small charm affixed to her bracelet. Nervousness radiated from her sun-kissed skin as he recognized the small symbol.

"…A lightning bolt," Sirius breathed as he fingered the small charm fastened with a diamond. "Where did you get this?" he wondered aloud.

"Why does everyone ask me that? I don't know. My parents don't know. I don't know," she repeated lamely. Suddenly her Gryffindor courage came roaring back. "Sirius … I need you to use  _Legilimens_  on me," she ordered.

"What?!" He stood from the couch in shock. The book he had been reading fell from his lap to floor, forgotten.

"Please! I don't trust anyone else who could possibly do the spell. Perhaps if you could search my memories from when I was a child…" she implored as she took his place on the couch.

Sirius shook his head as he stared at the resolute witch before him. "Hermione, I would never. The effects of such a spell … of trying to pull memories from your unconscious, who knows what irreversible damage it could cause."

"I need to know, Sirius." She held up her wrist. "This  _means_ something! I know it does."

"Okay, okay, love," Sirius soothed as he once again sat on the tattered couch next to her."How about we speak to Kingsley? He's a wonderful bloke, bit of Ministry stiff, but..."

Hermione's eyes widened with apprehension. "No! I couldn't possibly - It's too soon!"

"Hermione, it makes sense," Sirius implored the teenaged witch to see reason. "Aren't you supposed to be logical one? Kingsley is the last heir to House Shacklebolt. Perhaps, he can gleam any significance from this, if it means anything at all," he appealed to her reasonable side.

She pondered the idea as she worried her bottom lip. "What's he like? He's a part of the Order of the Phoenix as well?"

Sirius nodded in the affirmative. "He was a few years ahead of James, Remus and I at school. Our paths didn't cross much because he was in Slytherin. But he was a damn good beater for the snakes, if I recall correctly. He'd joined the DMLE by time Harry had been born and other than official Order business we rarely spoke. He's really a stand-up bloke. Dumbledore's benefited by having him as an ally at the Ministry."

"And…and did he have a family?" she tentatively asked. "The book I've been reading only listed him as the heir to his House."

Sirius gave a soft smile, a rare touch of sympathy in his eyes as he understood her nervousness. She was adopted, and had possibly found a clue to her origins after such a long time. Gently, he answered her question, "I heard he'd married and … yes. They had a daughter."

"Stop," Hermione ceased the man from continuing, rising from the couch. She was filled with both anticipation and a dread so deep at his next words, she thought she might be sick. "Stop. I don't want to know."

"Hermione," Sirius pleaded again. "Let's talk to Kingsley …." If Hermione was indeed a long, lost Shacklebolt, the man would be best person to determine it.

But the witch would hear none of it. "No! I… I will talk to him when I have more substantive proof. Besides the Order is terribly busy with Voldemort's return. Harry's mad at me for not writing all summer. We have much too much to worry about now."

Sirius pierced her with a keen look. "Hermione, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were scared. Where's the girl who faced a hundred Dementors, a werewolf and escaped convict in her third year?"

Hermione looked away, ashamed, because Sirius was absolutely right. She was scared. Scared to know the truth now that it was closer than ever. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it. But fear, fear of rejection, the chance that she might be wrong; all of it made shake her head once more with finality. "Not now, please Sirius. I … I need to be the one to talk to him. But only when I'm absolutely sure."

Sirius sat back in his seat, never one to disagree with a lady, but clearly disappointed with her decision. He tapped his fingers along the couch's arm, thinking for a moment. "Well, if you insist. I swear not to tell him."

"You promise?"

Sirius raised his right hand and gave her a brilliant smile. "Marauder's oath, love. Besides, he not here at the moment. He was supposed to escort Harry with Remus, Tonks, and Emmeline Vance last night, but last minute work for the Minister came up."

Hermione nodded her head, realizing a weight that hadn't even been there had been lifted. "Thank you," she breathed as she wiped nervous hands across her jean pockets.

Sirius threw his head over his shoulder. "Now go upstairs and see my godson. He's right pissed at both you and Ron."

* * *

On 1st September, 1995 Emmeline Vance, Tonks, Remus and Moody (and Sirius disguised as Padfoot) escorted the Weasley children, Hermione, and Harry to the platform on 9 and ¾. Harry had been cleared of all charges and allowed to come back to Hogwarts. By time it came for the three to be escorted to King's Cross, Hermione was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Kingsley Shacklebolt would not join the detail, as again he had been pulled away with Ministry business.

After goodbyes were said, Hermione and Ginny were the last of their group to board the train.

"Don't look, but I think you've got a secret admirer," Ginny teased in a sing-song voice.

Hermione pulled her trunk up onto the train. "What are you talking about?"

"There," she threw her chin over Hermione's shoulder. "I can't believe it. Malfoy is wearing a hole into your head." Ginny grasped Hermione's shoulder in effort to keep her from turning around. "No! No, don't look!" After boarding, the two girls made their way down the corridor. The boys had taken one compartment and Ginny led Hermione to the next available one.

Hermione kept her head straight, though she desperately wanted to turn around to confirm Ginny's assertions. "Is he still staring?" Hermione whispered.

Ginny opened the compartment door, pretending to look beyond Hermione. "He's gone toward the Slytherin side of the train now." Hermione looked over her shoulder, but Malfoy had just slipped beyond the door to the next car. "Oh my Merlin, but he was ever staring at you! Must be the new hair, 'Mione."

Hermione rolled her eyes and joined Ginny in the compartment where a blonde, girl with radish earrings was already sitting and reading an upside-down magazine.

"I like your new hair do, Hermione. It looks positively charming," the girl spoke up as she lowered her magazine.

"Oh, uh... thanks," Hermione gave a half-smile. "Though I haven't done anything different to it." She cut accusing eyes at Ginny. "That salon you sent me to for last year's Ball must've used a strong potion. It's altered my hair," she accused.

Ginny beamed as she ran a hand through Hermione's defined, more manageable curls. "For the better!"

Hermione shook her head as she turned to the newcomer. "I don't think we've met. I'm Hermione Granger."

The witch, a Ravenclaw by the colors of her scarf, grasped Hermione's offered hand. "Luna Lovegood. A pleasure."

Ginny and Luna needed no introduction seeing as the two held several classes together. "Soo, are we going to talk about how our bookworm here has captured Draco Malfoy's heart?"

Hermione threw her head back and groaned as the train moved forward.

Unfortunately, Malfoy didn't ease Ginny's teasing by continuing to shoot pointed stares at her during the opening feast. It tempered when Dolores Umbridge took to the podium and whispers of Ministry interference at Hogwarts floated about, but ever since then, Hermione would catch the blond's eyes during classes and meal times that first week. It was starting to become annoying.

She passed through the library stacks the first weekend after classes started, seeking more books on defensive spells since their current defense professor saw no use for such a skill, when she caught the grey-silver eyes of Malfoy peering back at her.

Hastily, she placed the book back on the shelf. It wouldn't be the first time she had spotted him here, so there shouldn't be a reason to freak out completely. Slowly, she pulled the book back off the shelf and hesitantly looked through the vacuum it had created. Cinnamon and silver eyes widened at first contact.

Hermione whipped back and mind made up, quickly walked around the stack and feverishly whispered to Slytherin, "What on earth is wrong with you?! Have you lost the plot, you've been staring at me all week!"

Draco fixed her with a pointed glare. "We need to talk."

Hermione quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching this conversation unfold. Of course, that didn't mean they weren't any gossipers lurking about, eager to spread the next big rumor. "We absolutely do not," Hermione lowered her voice, but found it hard to keep the shrill level to a minimum. The two of them needing to speak to one another was as preposterous as Professor Snape and Harry sitting down to tea. "I have nothing on earth to say to you!"

Draco looked around before causally pulling something out of his robe pocket. "Hear me out. It may be worth your while, Granger." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Or should I say Shacklebolt?"

Hermione dropped the books she had been collecting. Her mouth fell open, and words left her. But Malfoy picked up the two tomes and handed them back to her. "Meet me in the Astronomy Tower. Sunday night, 10pm. Do  _not_  be late." He emphasized as he brushed passed her. "And I'll want my picture back."

But Hermione was too focused on the books Malfoy had placed in her hand. Sitting on top of  _Dark Arts and You, A Guide to Safety_  was a tattered, black and white moving photograph. One man she easily identified as Lucius Malfoy. He looked younger and more handsome with his hair tied behind his head. Standing regally beside him, was a very pregnant woman who caressed her swollen middle: Narcissa Malfoy. But standing right next to the pair was a stately looking man and a demure, long-haired blonde woman. The woman held in between the two couples a smiling baby girl with a tuff of brown curls. The baby grabbed onto the stately man's shirtfront and for all the world to see, was a shiny bracelet Hermione would recognize anywhere.

Her books fell from her arms for a second time.


	5. If Only

Hermione Granger was not one typically for melodramatics, but if ever a situation called for it, she thought now would be quite appropriate. The Slytherin who just turned her world upside down had left her holding a picture of herself in miniature as she was held lovingly between her mother and father. A hand flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp that would have certainly drawn unwanted attention within the quiet stacks. Quickly collecting her fallen books, Hermione rushed around the tables and Madame Pinch to head back to her dorm.

As she ascended the stairs, Hermione decided then to refuse to meet Malfoy at the Astronomy Tower. She was curious as all get out, but she refused to meet the spoilt Slytherin on  _his_  terms and demands. So for the rest of the weekend she stewed; she studied in her room, ate sandwiches Dobby kindly brought to her (on the promise that she not try to slip him a hat or sock in exchange) and stared at the magical photograph greedily as if it could answer all her questions.

She woke up at the start of a new week, excited for class, but thoroughly confused about life. It would have been so easy to put together a plan if it were for Ginny or Harry or Ron, but when it came to her own life, Hermione Granger simply did not know what to do. Questions and confessions were bubbling to the service and on the way to breakfast before the start of the day, she leaned against the wall about to suffer a full-blown panic attack.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" a kind voice asked.

Sinking under the weight of relief, guilt and anxiety, Hermione threw her arms around Neville as the boy approached and clung to him for dear life. "Oh Neville, thank God!"

"What's the matter?"

Hermione looked around before pulling the boy around the corner, past the students filing into the Great Hall. Once they were tucked into a small enclave between suits of armor, she took a deep breath and started from the beginning. She was rambling and probably didn't make much sense by time she reached recent events; she wrung trembling hands together to keep them from shaking. By time she finished, she had pulled the picture Malfoy gave her from her robe pocket and handed it to Neville.

"I'm almost certain it's true," she finished, dejected. "No matter how cruel-hearted Malfoy may be, I don't see what he gains from this if it is some horrid joke," Hermione voiced his fears to her friend.

Neville held the picture, his eyes going wide. "This is your bracelet!" he exclaimed. "Hermione, it's you!" as if just coming to the realization himself. "That's brilliant." He looked up to his friend with wonder in his eyes.

But Hermione did not feel the joy Neville displayed and slumped against the wall. "I don't see how, Neville. I had an inkling that this emblem belonged to House Shacklebolt. I would have put two and two together eventually, then I could have reached out when I was ready. But Malfoy's completely ruined everything. Now he knows, is hanging it over my head, and could tell the entire world."

Neville grasped Hermione's shoulder in support. "You won't let him, Hermione. I know you won't."

Hermione shook her head, hating to admit defeat. "I need to know what he wants. Malfoy couldn't possibly do this out of the good of his heart. I need to find out and I need to find out soon."

"And what about Harry and Ron? Are you going to tell them?" Neville inquired about their fellow Gryffindors.

Hermione bit her lip as she quickly skimmed through the pros and cons of telling her friends. They most likely would keep her secret, but the question was for how long? Shaking her head, Hermione thought it best to keep the circle of those who knew small, because the larger it grew the less control she had over those who did know. She told Neville so. "I promise I will tell them." She promptly added to his satisfaction, "But it just can't be at this moment. Malfoy certainly threw a wrench in things, but until I have whatever he is planning under control, then I will let the others know."

"And if the others find out that Malfoy knew before them?" He asked with a raised brow.

Hermione lifted her shoulder bag off the floor and sighed, stuck between a Merlin-awful rock and a hard place. "Then I'll explain if and when they do." The warning bell before first period sounded. "I'm sorry, I made us miss breakfast Neville."

"No worries. There's someone I kind of wanted to avoid at the moment."

Hermione gave him a knowing, kind smile as she linked arms and headed to their Transfiguration classroom. "You don't say?"

* * *

_Father,_

_Remember what I wrote to you last week? Enclosed you'll find photographic proof that Granger is Shacklebolt's lost heir. Last year the Prophet ran an article from last year's Tri-Wizarding tournament. The charm bracelet with Shacklebolt's emblem is shown clearly as she goes to embrace Potter. I've compared it to other pictures I found in your study this past summer and now I am convinced. I certain we can use this to our advantage. By the way, Mother said you both are Granger's God-parents? Is that true?_

_Anyway, Professor Umbridge has given me and others power and access like never before. Granger's frightened as a first year that I know her secret; she'll do anything we ask. Should I wait for you to speak with Kingsley Shacklebolt? Please let me know._

_Draco_

Draco frowned as he re-read the letter to his father. Quickly, he crumbled the piece of parchment within his hand and vanished the remains. He would hold onto this secret for the meantime, choosing to reveal it when it was most advantageous. For now, his lips curled at how he could further tease the elusive witch in question.

The cowardly chit had steadfastly ignored him after outright standing him up a few weeks ago. Her attention seemed to be focused elsewhere as she and her friends were forever sneaking off to Merlin knows where. It made it hard to approach her about his little discovery.

At first, he had been put off that Granger stood him up, but now he sought to annoy her by teasing her and her friends mercilessly in class, often hinting that he had more to say. She would glare death at him and he would wink and continue to tease. It was glorious getting under the swotty know-it-all's skin; he counted it payback for every time she thought she knew the answer to everything. Well this one thing she wouldn't have figured out if it weren't for him. Poor thing would have still thought herself a Mudblood if it weren't for him. At least now he knew the reason for her prowess in magic. It made sense now.

"You and Granger have been exchanging notes, lately," Draco's roommate, Theo accused from seemingly nowhere. Glancing quickly about their dormitory, Draco noted that Blaise was reading a book on his bed, but was attuned to every word of the interesting conversation that was about to occur.

"Jealous?" Draco haughtily asked.

"Observant," Theo remarked with narrowed eyes.

Draco smirked. Of course he was. "Granger and her friends are up to something. I've been warning her that they won't get away with it for long. Not that it's any business of yours."

Theo raised a brow as he sat on his bed opposite of Draco's. "Granger, is it? What happened to Mudblood or 'vile filth'?"

Draco noticed that even Blaise had lowered his book in anticipation of his reply. Carefully considering his options, Draco knew that an admission here could go either way. But an omission could spread rumors that he was hiding, or protecting, Granger for some reason. A rumor he did not wish to see flourish beyond these walls.

He decided on deflection. "Trifle in the grand scheme of things. I've been corresponding with my Father, you know. He says that 'change' is coming to the Ministry and Hogwarts," he boasted conspiratorially. "And if you wish to be on the right side when change comes, Nott, I'd stop trying to malign my character," he narrowed his eyes at his roommate, once again trying to reclaim his dominance among the pit of snakes. It they wanted the inside information, then they would do best to shut up about this whole 'Granger' business.

Blaise carefully watched the two for signs that either would back down. There were a few tense seconds where Draco thought Theo would press him further, but the boy broke the stare to glance at the opposite wall.

"Whatever, Malfoy."

At that, Draco put on his robe and left the dorm and dungeon. Pansy found him in a surly mood as he brushed past her in the common room, his footsteps certain. He mentally berated the stubborn witch, his parents and their forgotten friendships, and his own curiosity for dragging him into all of this. If he had just dropped this 'bracelet' business, he wouldn't be in this position. But loyalty to his family, to his parents, made him seek out the lost Shacklebolt.

He found her where she always was: in the library. Her back was to him as she stretched on the tips of her Mary Janes for a book just out of reach. He took one moment to appreciate the smooth, lean lines of her legs not covered by her skirt and effortlessly grabbed the book she was reaching towards. His growing height gave him a advantage over hers.

"Excuse me, that was mine," Granger huffed before she had a chance to see who had grabbed her book.

"So is the picture I lent you, but you've yet to return it," Draco reminded her. "Those Muggles have taught you poor manners, Granger."

The curly-haired witch glanced over his shoulder and around hers before responding back, her voice low and full of contempt. "Don't you dare speak about my parents, Malfoy," she warned him again. He quickly remembered how she had assaulted him on the train at the end of last year.

"Which ones?" he smirked to her warning.

She clearly chose not to respond to his question and pulled out the picture in question. So she had it on her person? Draco knew the picture had gotten to her, then. The fact that she hadn't left it in her dorm or locked it away spoke volumes of how much it meant to her. "How do I know this isn't doctored?" she questioned instead, even though Draco knew she had to know the magical photograph wasn't altered.

"It's not. I found it in my father's personal study," Draco spoke the truth easily enough. Not that there was a reason for her to believe him. Their past was reason enough.

Granger paused, assessing him as he knew she would. "He knows, you told him," she accused. He didn't have to guess that she meant his father ….or possibly her father. Draco assumed the former.

"Wrong again, Granger, or whatever you are. My parents don't know … yet. But imagine how they would feel when I tell them their long-lost  _God-da_ ughter has been found and that she's been attending school with their son this entire time."

The look that ran across Granger's eyes was comical. "What?! What. Did you say?"

Draco crossed his arms before the witch, the very picture of a distraught, little girl. "You heard me. Apparently my father and Kingsley Shacklebolt were close. Close enough to be attendants at each other's wedding, and close enough to name my parents God-parents to their first born," he stared at her pointedly.

"I hate you," Granger sneered as she turned away from him, very close to the point of tears.

Draco rounded on her, forcing her face him and the truth. He managed to keep his voice from rising in indignation. "You should be thanking me. I've informed you that despite your unfortunate upbringing, you are, in fact, a pureblood. A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, in fact. Any other witch would be ecstatic."

Granger shook her head as tears pooled; a few droplets fell from her eyes. "You couldn't possibly understand. Why'd it have to be you?" she whispered to herself.

Strangely, Draco felt unease in his gut at the sight of her tears. It brought back the memory of when he had questioned his mother almost to the point of pain by discussing the past. He swallowed away the unpleasant feeling and continued, "Excuse me, I'll just take my learnings to the  _Prophet_  then ..."

Granger grabbed his sleeve as he attempted to leave. He sneered down at her, on instinct, before shrugging her hand off and settled for annoyance.

"It's not fair." Granger stopped her foot. "You can't just drop something like this," she waved her hands about trying to demonstrate the severity of her situation, "on me and then run off to press. Have you no decency?"

Draco smirked wickedly. "An anonymous source cannot write-in with a tip?" He waved off her silly notion. "Please, if I wanted to I could have told them in-person when I found that picture this summer. And it isn't the only one by the way," he motioned to the picture still in her hand, "so don't go thinking you can destroy the evidence."

Her eyes, now red, rolled skywards. "Is that what you want? Acclamation and notoriety?"

Draco stared at her and shrugged, indifferent. "Like any of more would make a difference. This will get out Granger, one way or another. And if it weren't for your affiliation with my family, I wouldn't have sought you out beforehand."

"As if I want anything to do with your family!" she protested. "I'd be better served never knowing about this … ugh  _affiliation_ , especially to learn of it from you!"

Draco looked down his nose at her ignorance. "One day, you'll want the connections and privilege that comes with being associated with the Malfoys, and the Sacred Twenty-Eight. You'll find that we're always one step ahead and while others deal with the fallout, we've already escaped and prepared for the next event."

"Does this conceited rant have a point, Malfoy? Or are you quite finished?" Granger scoffed.

"Your education is sorely lacking, Granger. And I don't mean in the educational sense." He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. "Meet me under the dilapidated drawbridge tomorrow night, if you desire more than what's in  _A Selection of Magical Families, Moste Important._ " Draco bade her good day, teasingly saluting her as Shacklebolt. He kept the book she was seeking to goad her further; the heat from her stare warmed his back all the way to the exit.

* * *

He made it to minute five before he turned around and headed back towards the castle. He would only stay so long hiding under the shadow of the old drawbridge before he decided Granger had stood him up again. But then the air shimmered a few feet away; voluminous curls danced in the night air followed by Granger's head - the first thing Draco saw. He swallowed his surprise as her body revealed itself part by part. She threw a well-worn cloak over her arm as she approached, now fully visible to him.

"An invisibility cloak?" he nodded to the garment on her arm.

She tucked the cloak under her arms, not meeting his eye. "I'm here, Malfoy. You can cut the niceties."

Draco tsked, "A proper witch is always polite, Shacklebolt." Granger hung her head, mumbling what he was sure was an expletive. "And a lady never curses in the presence of company."

Finally, her eyes snapped to his. "My name is Hermione Granger, if you'd please." She crossed her arms, a well-worn mask of impatience settling across her bones. "Well, go on. I'm here."

Draco smirked. "So, you are. Why did you come this time?" he asked, curiosity getting the best of him. "You didn't come at the beginning of term, so why now?"

Granger rolled her eyes towards to the twilit sky. "Merlin knows, I've asked myself several times over the past twenty-four hours." After a beat, she shrugged a shoulder as if she was reluctant to admit it aloud. "I want to know more."

Draco paused, assessing the uncomfortable witch. Softly, he replied, "September 20th."

Granger raised her eyes to his. "What?"

"Marie Delacour Shacklebolt's birthday is … was September 20th. A day after yours, am I correct?"

Hermione blinked comically. "You know when my birthday is?"

It was Draco's turn to shrug as he looked away from her. "Is that really the question you ought to be asking?"

He didn't have to see Granger to know she had narrowed her eyes, but her silence ceded the point to him. Fiddling with the runes on the invisibility cloak, she posed her next question, "Do you know what happened to her?"

Draco sat down on the steep hill, digging his feet into the slopped earth. "Mother says it was during the War. Shacklebolt was working with the DMLE at the time, his wife and daughter were assumed casualties."

Granger remained standing, a few feet away from him. He could see her mouth falling and closing as she tried to pose her next question. It was fascinating. Draco had never seen Hermione Granger nervous about anything. Yet here she was, out of her element of a classroom, no books before her, at an absolute loss of what to say or do. A corner of his mouth lifted at the sight.

"Your mother and father were close to them?" she finally asked.

Draco peered at her nervousness and a twinge of sympathy pinched his gut. Granger had only an enemy as her only source of information on her lost parents. He could only imagine what it took for her to come to him of all people, and suddenly, his plan to tease and ridicule her desperation vanished with the remaining sunlight. He took a deep breath and plunged forward.

"I only know what Mother shared with me this summer. She and Marie grew close after your parents' wedding. She confessed they had tried to conceive together as to have an established playmate for their heirs. Mother said Marie was beautiful, loved to garden, and spoke nearly eight languages. Whenever Shacklebolt would return from a mission abroad, he brought a souvenir home to her. By time, she fell pregnant with you, Mother said Shacklebolt stopped traveling. At Marie's request, of course." Draco smiled to himself. "Mother lit up like I've never seen her when she spoke of your mother. Yes, I gathered they must've been close, once."

Granger was studying the runes on the invisibility cloak intensely now. Even though she gave off an air of nonchalance, Draco could tell she hung riveted to his every word.

"And after Marie's death?" Granger made no mention of herself, the infant. "Did your parents remain close with Kingsley?"

Here, he shook his head. "Father will not talk about such matters, but that doesn't mean he didn't care." Draco felt the need to defend his father, though he knew little on the subject. "He is a difficult man to read."

Granger harrumphed in agreement.

"I know they played Quidditch together for Slytherin—"

Suddenly, Granger's sour chuckle distrubed the night air. "Of course. I should've known," she partly groaned to herself, her hands covered her face.

"I'm sorry?"

"The sorting hat," Granger clarified as she dropped her hands. "When we were first sorted, it asked me if I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps and join his house. I was eleven, was just recently informed I was magical, and had no idea the hat was referring to my biological father." She shook her head, though Draco gathered it was not directed at him. "I could have figured this out then, if only I asked for more information."

"How were you to know? You were only eleven."

Granger stared at him strangely then, their gaze frozen on the other. Draco supposed so much could have changed between them if he had known at eleven that she was a Shacklebolt and Delacour. He surmised she was thinking the same.

"Not that it matters now." Granger shook her cloak off. "Well that's enough for tonight, I suppose." She threw the garment around her shoulders until she was just a floating head. "Thanks, Malfoy." Suddenly she vanished, but Draco felt he wasn't alone.

From where he sat, he asked boldly, "Same time, tomorrow night?" He waited a heartbeat, two, three, praying to Merlin he wasn't mental and talking to empty air.

But a few seconds later, her voice called back. "Have patrols. Is Tuesday, alright?"

The darkness hid Draco's smug smile.


	6. Outweighs the Cost

"Severus could do it." Malfoy, again, tapped his wand to the green apple, concentrated on the task set before him.

"Never," Hermione answered just as quickly, though she was fascinated to watch him practice the spell. He had laser-like focus, but still had the presence of mind to keep up with their conversation. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, a similar tic she adopted in the mist of study. Surprisingly, it made her smile.

"He's the bloody best Legilimens I know."

There was a moment of silence as Hermione worked through Malfoy's statement. "Has... has he taught you Legilimency?"

He answered with a question of his own, his eyes still focused on the task before him. "Does that surprise you?"

Hermione looked away from Malfoy. "Nothing much surprises me now." The fact that she and Malfoy had been meeting for two weeks outside of Hogwarts' grounds with only a few skirmishes between them surprised her the most. "Besides, how do I know Professor Snape won't irreparably damage my psyche performing said spell?"

Malfoy shrugged, then tapped the apple once and successfully transfigured his apple into a golden snitch. "Sometimes the benefit outweighs the cost." He grinned, suddenly smug with his accomplishment.

Wearily eyeing the wings of the golden object, she waved away the snitch as it flew close to her hair. "That's a morose way of thinking."

"Fine, continue on your cowardly way."

Malfoy knew that one did not ever call a Gryffindor a coward. He was in dangerous territory now. "Excuse me?"

Visibly annoyed, the Slytherin reached out and caught the snitch that hovered just in front of her face. "You could end this right now, you know? You could go to Shacklebolt, or Dumbledore, or any one of your pathetic friends. They could perform the blood spell, and you'll have your answer. But you're content to sit here, pry me for information, and kill time until the Winter Hols, where let me guess, you're planning to hide away with your Muggle 'parents' until the new term resumes, am I correct?"

The darkness hid her blush at his correct assumption. Not that she'd ever admit it to him. "Incorrect. But speaking of, why haven't  _you_  said anything? You could go to your father, Professor Snape, or any one of your pathetic friends," she mocked him. "And yet, you haven't."

"Nothing to it. Part of me is sympathetic to your sad plight. And part of it is ... Like I said, you  **are**  my parents' god-daughter. There is a matter of loyalty and such."

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "I'm Muggle-born. Your parents want nothing to do with me," she stated with finality.

"That you were raised among Muggles does nothing to negate the fact of who you are."

Now that was an incorrect statement. "But it has everything to do with who I am! My parents are Helen and Gregory Granger. They gave me a home, and love, and a life. I am who I am because of them."

"And your prowess in magic?" he gave back with an arched brow. "The way you outperform every one of our classmates in every subject with hardly any effort?! They gave you that too, huh?" Suddenly, he changed course, "Where do you belong, Granger? When you go home for the holidays, do you pine like I do to be back here—"

She interrupted him right there. "I worked and studied hard for everything I've earned - "

Another roll of his eyes. "Bullshit, Granger. Somethings are just innate and come from your make-up, your blood. If Helen and Gregory Granger were to have another kid right now, said kid would be as ordinary as this rock." He kicked over a stone near his foot for emphasis.

Hermione scoffed, "You think you have it all figured it out, Malfoy. Like everything can be made right because of who your parents' are! That's ridiculous."

"When it comes to you and me, it's not," he finished simply. "Remain ignorant if you want, but when this comes out, even your pathetic friends will begin to look at and treat you differently. I don't know about Muggles, but in our world, your name means something." He pointed to himself then to her. "Our names mean something."

"A name is just that. Who you are on the inside matters more," she argued back. "I would rather be Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, and at the top of my class, than Hermione Shacklebolt, pure-blood princess!"

"Emmeline!" he replied, as if he had grown tired of the conversation.

"What?!"

He pinched his nose and stated in a calmer voice, "Marie and Kingsley's daughter.  _You_. Your name is Emmeline Joie Shacklebolt."

Hermione shook her head in the negative. "I am not her. I'm not."

"If you want to stay in our world, then you had better learn to live with the fact that you are. The world will forget about Hermione Granger once this comes out." He dusted his trousers off and started back up the hill towards the castle. "Night, Granger."

"What do you mean, goodnight?" she said to his back.

Malfoy replied without turning, "Meaning I'm going to bed."

"I am not finished."

"Too bad. I am."

Hermione stewed in her anger, but what could she do? Persuade him to stay? They hardly had an arrangement, and while they were polite (for the most part), they were not friends. She watched the blond disappear up the slope and waited until he was out of sight before she reluctantly followed behind him.

* * *

Three days later in Grffindor's common room, Hermione and Neville sat reading on the floor in front of the couch. "Neville, do you think I should tell someone else?" Hermione asked once she reached an appropriate stopping place.

"Oh, because I'm not enough," he said without looking up from his book.

Hermione loved that her friend knew what she was talking about without prompting. Harry or Ron would definitely need prompting. "You know what I mean. I mean, Harry's busy with Dumbledore's Army. It isn't exactly the proper time."

"Well, when will it be?" He finally looked up from his book to face her.

She stuck her quill in her bun as she voiced her concern with her hands. "That's the thing. I feel like I'm sitting on top of a cauldron, with the lid about to explode off. And once it comes off, there'll be no putting it back on."

"Cauldrons exploding makes me think of Potions class and detentions with Snape. Thanks for the reminder." They both laughed until he scooted closer to her and threw an arm over her shoulder. "Look Hermione, only you can decide when you're comfortable enough to move forward with this. That's like forcing me to, you know, tell my Gran I like boys."

Hermione leaned into him. "I would never force you to do that, Neville."

"I know you wouldn't. Which is why I can't tell you when it's right to do it. Only you can decide that."

Hermione hugged her knees close to her chest. "I'm worried that once this comes out, people will only care about my past and how I possibly fit into the world now. And with everything that's to come, I'm worried my friends will lose sight of who I am."  _That I'll lose sight of who I am,_  she said in her head.

"They'll won't. Not that you'll let them, I reckon. Beside there can never be another Hermione Granger."

"Thanks, Neville."

* * *

"Does being god-parents in the wizarding world carry a significance I don't know about?"

Hermione and Malfoy had now carried their semi-polite, awkward arrangement into week four. Not that it made her any less comfortable with Malfoy knowing her secret, but she told herself this was for research purposes. And so, she fiddled with her charm bracelet while she forced herself to wait for his answer.

"What does it mean for Muggles?"

"Extra presents at birthdays and holidays, mostly. The literal connotation meant to raise the child in the Christian faith if anything were to ever happen to the parents."

"Christian faith?" he asked, perplexed.

"One of many religions Muggle choose to practice," she quickly supplied. She huddled closer to her cloak, and cast a heating charm over them as the November air froze the foliage decorating their meeting spot of late.

"Hm. Being a god-parent is the closest thing to an unbreakable vow without actually performing one. And you know, you won't die should you fail. But there are magical properties behind the ceremony. You swear to protect the child, raise him or her as your own should something happen to the birth mother or father, and there is legal authority over the child until he or she comes of age."

Hermione shuddered at the thought of Lucius Malfoy having any kind of authority over her. "Who are your god-parents?" Hermione couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Severus Snape and Violet Parkinson," the blond offered easily enough.

Hermione made a face at the unfortunate pair. "I'm sorry."

"Why? Mrs. Parkinson spoils me almost as bad as my mother. But that's because she wants me to marry her daughter. And Severus has taught me more than this school ever could. "

"You mean your Legilimency tutelage? Yes, teaching outside the standard Hogwarts curriculum must be doing wonders for your formal education." But Hermione was suddenly reminded about Harry's tutelage of defense spells to students outside of Hogwarts' current curriculum. But that was neither here nor there, she told quickly herself. That was for the greater good.

Malfoy peered at her, as if he knew her mind had skirted off for a bit, but chose not to call her out on it. "Father doesn't seem to mind. Besides it'll prove useful in what's to come."

The air grew heavy between the lion and the snake. "Exactly what is  _coming_ , Malfoy?"

"Where are you and Potty sneaking off to after classes?" he asked just as she finished her question.

"I asked you first."

"Humor me."

"You know I won't." Hermione sighed, as annoyance made her burrow deeper into her cloak. "Again, what is coming, Malfoy?"

"What is, indeed?"

She stood from her place on the ground. "Fine, I'll bite. I'm not naïve. Harry says Voldemort has returned."

"Don't say his name!" he chided her from his place on the ground.

Hermione crossed her arms, after waving off his previous statement. She asked pointedly, "Is there a war coming? Do you know something? Better yet, does Lucius know something?"

Now Malfoy joined her in standing. "Don't talk about my father!"

She smirked at the dirt that lined his expensive cloak. "Why? Has something happened for him to be afraid of?"

"I don't answer to you."

"Your entire posture gives away your answer, Malfoy. Something is coming, I know it is. It's why Umbridge won't teach us proper Defense, or why the Minister steadfastly refutes Harry's claims. The whole lot of you are scared and it shows."

"I have nothing to be afraid of – it's Muggles and the like who need to be worried."

"And what do you think I am?!" Hermione raised a brow meaningfully at the blond.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Disillusioned into thinking something you're not."

Hermione groaned, "I don't know what to say to convince you, but for all intents and purposes, I am a  _Mudblood_ , remember? That is all your side will ever see me as."

Malfoy reached forward to grab the wrist that held her charm bracelet and shook it between their faces. " _This_  says otherwise. Join the blood-traitors if you so wish, but don't delude yourself into thinking you're less than."

"I am  **never**  less than!" Hermione huffed as she yanked her arm back, frustration rising to the surface. "You just don't get it! You see a name, and a pedigree, but I am who I am." Hermione thought back to those who teased her in primary school and to those who teased her now. She thought of him and proudly proclaimed, "I am the daughter of Muggles. The top of her class. A witch. And a Muggle-born!"

Malfoy openly laughed at her, "Are you purposely that daft?"

"Are you?!" she shot back heatedly.

Malfoy cursed beneath his breath. "You bleeding-heart, stubborn, shit-for-brains Gryffindors! The lot of you never learn, not until you're dragged through the bloody mud and it's shoved right into your face." Deftly, he unsheathed his wand, and before her eyes could widen, he spoke the incantation.

" _Legilimens!_ "

_An infant pulled up on the bars of her crib as a woman dressed in travelling clothes came rushing into the green and pink room outfitted with toy cats. The infant girl babbled happily at the woman's unexpected entrance and reached for her, expecting to be picked up._

" _Marie!" a disembodied voice pleaded. "Marie!"_

" _Ma-ma," the infant called._

_The woman, Marie, rushed to open to a closet and with a wave of her wand sent piles of clothes, blankets, and nappies into a travelling bag. Marie ignored the infant as she set about her task. The infant instead reached for her toys that danced happily in the sky on their way into the woman's bag._

" _I am going tonight, Kingsley, don't not try and stop me," Marie spoke in broken English._

_A handsome, young wizard garbed in standard Auror robes rushed into the room, but by now, the infant picked up on the tension in the room and started to cry._

" _Marie, please, wait until morning," Kingsley pleaded. "I can arrange a DMLE escort to France."_

" _Not when Death Eaters are out there. They killed your partner and his family just last night, Kingsley. They are within the DMLE, you said. How do I know they do not kill me and Emmeline then?"_

_Kingsley did not have an answer to that. But he quickly moved to grab his wife from behind as she continued to magically pack her and Emmeline's things. He held her fiercely and spoke into her hair, "I don't want to lose you, either of you. I'll take you myself."_

_Marie shook her head sadly. "Please, Kingsley. We must go now and you are needed here. I cannot wait. War has not come to the continent. The Delacour Estate holds ancient magic that will protect us both." Gently, she removed her husband's arms from around her middle and went over to pick up a crying Emmeline. "Ssh, ssh, my darling, Maman is here," she cooed to the wailing infant._

" _The magic of my family home can hold," he spoke wearily as if they had had this argument before._

" _What did you tell me when she was born?" Marie said as she kissed the infant's head and moved to join her husband in the middle of the room. Her bag sat packed and ready by the doorway._

" _Thank you for giving me this most precious jewel," Kingsley repeated as he embraced Emmeline and Marie simultaneously with a hug. Emmeline cried softly as she laid against her mother's chest, slowly lulled into peace by her parents' embrace. Husband and wife stayed that way for a moment, before Marie broke free first._

" _And I will keep her safe while you fight for us."_

Suddenly the two teens were back, alone on Hogwarts' frozen grounds, with nothing but the rushing of their collective stunned breaths. As soon as her equilibrium returned, Hermione rushed towards Malfoy, fresh tears on her cheeks. "You bastard!" She cried as she pushed him. She shoved his chest, hit his shoulder, and pushed her fist into his rib. "You had no right!"

All at once, he gathered both of her arms against his chest, effectively ending her assault.

With wild curls lost to the wind, Hermione seethed through clenched teeth. "You could have injured me, you-"

Malfoy spoke over her tirade, pulling her arms closer as they sought escape. "You were thinking about your parents, mentioned you were someone's daughter, and were in an emotional state. It wasn't hard to make the leap to your subconscious and pull the memory to the forefront."

It was difficult to project anger through tears, but by Merlin Hermione tried. "You forced me... me to… to…"

"To see the truth, Granger."

Her chest heaved with unspoken pain, and anger, and betrayal, but Malfoy continued, the grey of his irises bright with an emotion she could not place. "You need to know there were people who loved you before Helen and Gregory Granger. Loved you enough to hide you, fight for you, and die for you so that you can could grow to become a brilliant witch. Whether you want to acknowledge that is up to you, but you cannot deny it. It's all there," he nodded to the top of her head.

Suddenly he released her, and without his weight holding her up, she staggered down the slope.

"The residual emotion is a holdover from the memory, but…"

She placed two fingers on her temples, emotionally spent. "Shut up! Just, leave me alone." Hermione turned partly in a daze, the emotional journey had left her disoriented and confused. Distantly, she could hear his retreating footsteps. She looked out onto the countryside, but all she could see was a stately decorated room, full of pink, green, and cats in her mind's eye. A headache built as she closed her eyes and she swore could feel the steady beat of a heart that had long ago lulled her to sleep.

* * *

It wasn't until the woman crossed the entrance that she felt safe enough to lower the hood of her cloak. Spotting where she was supposed to go two tables from the door, Narcissa Malfoy warmly greeted her old friend. "It is so good to see you, Kingsley," she saluted the handsome Auror.

Kingsley politely stood as she approached, and waited until after she sat to take his seat. "You as well, Narcissa. Apologies we had to meet in a place less suited than your usual taste." He gestured around to small family-owned coffee shop. Narcissa did not recognize the owners, and assumed they were were Muggles. But she knew Kingsley must've had a reason to meet in a Muggle community.

"I'm assuming you do not wish for us to be seen together?"

"I am on official business," he agreed.

"About anyone we know?" she raised a perfectly sculpted brow. They both gave their beverage orders to the young girl who came to take their order.

After she left, Kingsley gave her a broad smile. "Coyness was always your strong suit. Marie often tried to imitate it."

Narcissa smiled at the memory. "She was too kind-hearted a person, even then."

Kingsley nodded, but admitted, "She had her moments. Hanging around snakes will do that do you." The two Slytherins laughed at that.

"So, this 'official business', does it have something do with Lucius?" Narcissa said her husband's name under her breath as she glanced around the cramped establishment. Paranoia made her leery.

"Skipping right to the point, I see." He chose not to answer straightaway. "How is your family doing?"

Blue eyes pierced his brown ones. Kingsley was always a handsome man, Narcissa knew and he grew even more so over the years. Dashes of grey in his hair made him appear distinguished and Narcissa could appreciate a handsome wizard when she saw one. Dropping her gaze to his ring-adorned left hand, she sighed. "My sister is incarcerated, and my son is doing well in his studies."

"I'm sorry, I thought you had another sister as well?"

Narcissa gave him an innocent blink. "Do I?"

Kingsley sighed, knowing that line of questioning wouldn't lead anywhere. "Just trying to be polite, Narcissa." He valiantly replied, "I know what it is like to lose your family. I wouldn't want you regret spending time with your family while you still had a chance."

"A chance?" Their tea arrived then, and both took a moment to drink before he replied.

"The Ministry knows something is happening. It feels very much like it did last time."

"Are you referring to what Mr. Potter has been spreading in the papers?" Narcissa asked innocently enough.

"That, among other things." Kingsley sighed, "Narcissa, I need you tell me if Lucius is involved with any Dark activity as of late?"

She sat back affronted, "Kingsley, I'm surprised..."

"Please do not insult my intelligence. I've come to your collective rescue before, need I remind you."

"And if you think we are not grateful, then you I  _will_  insult your intelligence," she replied a bit sternly.

He mimicked her posture and sat back in his chair too. "I'm not saying you aren't. It's just that things are not the same as they were then. There's a different Minister, a different way of thinking. Simply claiming the  _Imperious_ will not cut it … and you cannot count on our friendship for aide should you both find yourselves in trouble." Only the clink of their tea cups touching the saucer could be heard for a moment as the two sat in silence. "I understand your dedication to Lucius," Kingsley continued, "but if you know something, you have to tell me. Soon. Otherwise, my hands are tied."

Her lower lip trembled. "He is gone most of the time. To where and to what end, he won't say."

Kingsley reached to cover her trembling gloved hand with his own. "Is he working on behalf of the Dark Lord?"

"I don't know."

"But if you did, would you tell me?"

Narcissa remained silent.

Kingsley sighed again. "House loyalty and friendship will only take you so far, Narcissa."

Suddenly the cool Malfoy matriarch was back. Any doubt or fear she may have temporarily shown, vanished. "Come to our house for the Christmas holidays, Kingsley. You shouldn't be alone. Draco will be home from school and Lucius will be there. You can speak with him then, if you wish."

"I don't want to intrude."

"Preposterous. You wouldn't be. In fact, I insist."

"Well, if you insist … and if I'm not abroad for the Department."

"Then, I look forward to it." Narcissa slipped her travelling cloak across her shoulders and announced the close of their rendezvous. "I'll leave first. See you shortly, Kingsley."

"Good day, Narcissa."

She walked as calmly as she could to the entrance and through the door, never once turning around. As soon as she was out the door, she hurried past passers-by to find a secluded place where she could disApparate. She was eager to find her husband.


	7. Predictable Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: "Emme" pronounced EM-me

Granger's moods and mannerisms were starting to become predictable. Draco didn't have to be Longbottom or St. Potter to know she wanted nothing to do with him following the  _incident_. It was almost comical how she refused to meet his gaze across the Great Hall at meal times, or lifted her nose even higher when they crossed paths in the hallways. The chit was trying to prove a point, but if she thought he would apologize, she was in for a rather rude awakening.

By time they entered December, her anger morphed into something else entirely. Draco caught her more than once fiddling with her bracelet during Potions, like a nervous tic, and he knew then the memory must have gotten to her.

It had gotten to him as well, if he were honest with himself. It was unnerving to watch one's parents fight over the safety of their child. He had spied on similar conversations between his mother and father after the return of the Dark Lord. Narcissa mirrored Marie's concerns almost to a tee. It was eerie to watch a similar fight play out in the witch's subconscious. Draco shifted in his seat, as he again observed Granger turn the bracelet over on her wrist.

It was then he decided to extend his version of an olive branch. After some successful persuading, he arranged it so that he and Granger had prefect patrols together a few days later. She would scowl the moment she saw him, but rather than pitch a fit as she was prone to do, she would begrudgingly keep her rounds with him.

Like he said, predictable.

So, a few days later found the unlikely duo sweeping the first floor of their assigned patrol route. Draco was content to work in silence, but he knew Granger could only take so much of her internal chatter before it spilled outward. They completed the length of one floor before she predictably broke the silence, "I'm thinking of writing a letter to Kingsley."

"To ask about the weather?" He checked behind one tapestry and could feel the heat of her glare across his shoulder blades.

"Nooo," she elongated the response. "I'm think I'm ready to meet him… during the Holiday break."

Draco joined her after his inspection and they continued down the hallway. "That's in a week."

She pushed a curl behind her ear and took a deep breath as if steadying herself against something unseen. "I know."

Gryffindors and their courage. Draco smirked to himself and prodded her weak plan for holes. "Do you even know if he'll be available?" he asked as she took the next closet. She opened the door and finding no one inside, quickly shut it.

"Well, no. But I'll tell him it's important." She bit her bottom lip, suddenly unsure. Another un-Granger like quality he had begun to notice of late. "I don't know." The witch was uncharacteristically deflated as she resumed her walk beside him.

Annoyed with the flash of pity that flared in his gut, Draco begrudgingly suggested, "Tell him you have information on Marie."

Her mouth fell opened in shock as she magically moved a suit of armor to the side and back. "What? No, that's cruel … I couldn't possibly do that." They turned and he hopped on a staircase to ascend to the next level.

As soon as she joined him, the stairway lurched with a jolt and swung in a different direction. While they waited, he postured against the rails, "Well, don't you?"

"Not that I know of."

Draco rolled his eyes. For being a brilliant witch, she could be obtuse at times. "You happen to be her daughter. That in itself is something. Merlin, do I have to think of everything? Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

She sighed to herself and rolled her wand in between her fingers, "The lid is about to fall off..."

Now Granger was talking about lids? He was beyond confused now. "What? What are on about?"

She answered with a question of her own, carefully observing his response. "Why are you in such a mood?"

He quickly schooled his face, hoping he wasn't giving away the plot like Granger and her blatant worry. "I don't care, nor have time for your melodramatics."

"Melodrama and Malfoy obviously go together, didn't you know?" She crossed her arms as they reached their landing and walked to the next floor to begin their sweep again. "If you really didn't care, you wouldn't have switched the patrol roster," she accused with a sharp brow.

Silence, then, "That is beside the point."

"Is it?" she smirked, smug with her find.

"Like you'd care. It was you who were avoiding me, remember?"

Her lips pressed together in a tight line with what he had come to know as aggravation. "With good reason," she lowered her voice, but not the shrill. "You breached my privacy, forced me to endure a painful memory that could have left me catatonic." Granger huffed and shook her head in frustration, "You are the most frustrating boy I've ever had the misfortune to meet. If it were Harry or Neville, they would have apologized by now," she finished, with a misplaced hope that he would get the message.

But he shrugged in reply, which further served to aggravate her. "If you're looking for an apology and a hug, Granger, I have news for you."

Her hands, which had found their way to her hips, flew upwards. "Ugh! I'm done here, you can finish patrols by yourself." She turned to leave and made it five steps before predictably, he asked the question to her back. He felt the two of them were becoming sadly predictable as of late.

"Where are you going?"

"I've a letter to write!" she gave back.

This would not do. He cursed as the opportunity to extend his olive branch was passing. In a split second, he made the decision before he quickly caught up with her. "Granger!" He grabbed her elbow to stop her, from which she quickly pulled back.

"Let me go, Malfoy."

He released her and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Forget the bloody letter."

Brown eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Forget. The letter," he repeated slowly. He quickly glanced up and down the hallway to make sure they were alone and no one could hear what he was about to say next.

"Why on earth would I do that?"

He moved closer to her and lowered his voice. "Because some things are better said in person." Bloody hell, he was really going to do this. Before he could stop himself, he plunged onward, "Come to the Manor, Granger." After she still didn't get it, he spoke even slower, "My mother's invited Kingsley over to the Manor for the holidays. Come and meet your father then."

* * *

The winter term came to an end and as Malfoy had alluded, Hermione found herself back at home with her parents. Primly folding her letters from Neville, Ron, and Harry, she lamented that she hadn't been there to celebrate the Christmas holiday with them. As she unwrapped presents on Christmas morning with her parents, she wondered how Marie and Kingsley celebrated their one and only Christmas as parents with a three-month old. She wondered if there was a grand celebration then.

She did not write her previously planned letter to Kingsley and felt the weight of her secret press even heavier as the days moved closer to the New Year. What was once her second favorite time of year (outside of September 1st), was now filled with anxiety. Her parents picked up on their daughter's mood and when they questioned her about it, she answered that she missed school.

Malfoy had been right.

She did pine to be back at Hogwarts, to be a part of a world she was rapidly beginning to think of as  _home_ , more than the four walls of her parent's two-story colonial ever could be. In fact, the wizarding world had been the home of her birth. It was becoming increasingly clearer that Hermione would soon need to choose between this world, the world of her parents, the world she used to know, and the place where she felt at home, the wizarding world.

Sighing again Hermione stared out her bedroom picture window, thinking about what her friends were doing this instant. She could only imagine the shenanigans going on at Grimmauld Place with the Weasley clan all under roof.

Opening the letter that had arrived the day after Christmas, Hermione re-read the neat cursive script; the font was small and slanted slightly to the left. Malfoy had sent her a short missive with a wrapped portkey and the instructions " _Three days – 6pm_ ".

This was it.

On December 30th, she had informed her parents that she was going to visit Harry for New Year's and with a small bag packed, she was now anxiously awaiting the time she was due to travel to Malfoy Manor. After saying goodbye to her parents, she changed in her dressing room into a long-sleeved powder blue party dress. She couldn't imagine the dress code for such an occasion, but thought of what would Malfoy wear and went with her best dress robes.

It was only a few moments to six and the portkey would activate. Why was she so nervous? She'd never been this nervous before. Fiddling with her wand to in effort to pass the minutes, she ran over a list of things she could possibly say when the moment came. As the minute hand hit the top of the hour, she unfurled the portkey and the magic whisk her to her past and future.

* * *

Elsewhere, the Lord and Lady of Malfoy Manor moved about their antechamber readying for dinner as they routinely did. Christmas brunch had been a grand affair with many visitors and well-wishers. Draco had led a party of his friends and school mates to his wing for gift exchanges, while Narcissa and Lucius entertained the adults downstairs with drinks and gifts of another kind. A few days later found the Manor was quiet and being prepped for company once again.

Lucius selected a dinner jacket for the evening and a smoking jacket that Mipsy would take to the library for after-dinner drinks. Narcissa sat at her personal vanity, dressed in elegant green satin. She held a hand-held mirror, set in priceless silver, but it slipped from trembling hands and cracked on the dresser.

"Darling, are you alright?" Lucius turned to his wife at the sharp sound.

She met his eyes in mirror and gave a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes. Why, yes Lucius. Of, course. My mind must've slipped."

"Anything to do with our dinner guest this evening?" he ventured as he donned his jacket.

Narcissa attempted a genuine smile this time. "It's been so long since Kingsley's been to the Manor. I must've checked with Mispy at least four times since lunch," she chuckled at her nervousness as she fastened one pearl drop earring to one ear and then the next. Her husband suddenly appeared over her shoulder behind her.

"I'm sure tonight will be splendid," he sought to soothe her worries, as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't want him to be alone during the holidays. We should have reached out sooner," she reprimanded herself.

Reaching behind, she handed Lucius a pearl necklace, who replied carefully, "We did. It was he who steadfastly declined, remember?"

Narcissa swept her hair to one shoulder so Lucius could fasten the necklace. "Yes, and we know the reason why." She stared into her husband's eyes meaningfully.

Before she could open her mouth, Lucius admonished her quietly, "Do not think on it, Narcissa."

She let her hair fall back in place as he clasped the latch. "How can I not?"

"If this is some macabre way to punish yourself, stop. The past is passed."

"The Dark Lord has returned, and this chasm between was once a great friendship grows even wider, despite my efforts to keep it together. Every year that goes by, the more wretched I feel. Do you not feel the same?" Soft blue eyes pleaded with his silver-grey ones in the mirror.

He was quiet as he turned to tuck gloves into his jacket pocket. "I feel a great many deal of things, darling. But none of that is your concern." He walked to their chamber door and held it open for her. "Shall we?"

As she passed through the doorway, she stopped to lay a comforting hand on his cheek. "What concerns you, Lucius, concerns me as well. Do not forget that." She wished she could smooth the lines of weariness she found there. The years had made them more pronounced. Instead she gave a comforting smile, dropped her hand, and exited intent on playing an excellent host to their most esteemed guest.

Dinner went remarkably well and after initial introductions, the trio of Malfoys and Kingsley found themselves in the midst of an easy conversation over salad and fish.

"So, Mr. Shacklebolt, Mother tells me you and Father played for Slytherin during your time at Hogwarts?" Draco continued the conversation while the elves cleared their first course.

Kingsley laughed as he nodded, but directed his answer to Narcissa. "What have you told your son, Narcissa?" he asked conspiratorially.

Draco glanced to his left and gauged his Father's reaction. "Not much," Draco replied cautiously.

Lucius dapped his mouth with a napkin. "Yes, Narcissa, just what  _have_  you been telling our son?" He smirked to his wife. Husband and wife shared a silent look before she demurred perfectly.

"Oh, only everything." The table politely chuckled at her charm. "Just that you two very involved in planning and executing plays for Slytherin." She turned to Draco. "I would go days without seeing hide nor hair of your father during Quidditch season."

"No need to exaggerate, darling," Lucius chided after a sip of wine.

"How are things at Hogwarts, Draco?" Kingsley asked.

Draco leaned back in his chair, in a posture that unconsciously mirrored Lucius. "Things have certainly changed since Umbridge's installation, sure. But I feel as though the school is back on a proper track."

"You mean, since she gives frequent detentions to Mr. Potter?"

Draco visibly flushed as he stared accusingly at his mother. Did she tell Kingsley about his rivalry with Harry Potter?

Kingsley laughed at the youth's reaction. He easily replied, "No need to blame your mother. The Ministry is just like Hogwarts in some regards – rumors fly faster than interdepartmental memos. And many at the Ministry have children who attend Hogwarts…" The smile from Kingsley's face fell momentarily. "I … uh… that is, you often find parents gossiping over their child's latest actions at the school," he finished quickly.

Sensing the discomfort growing around the table, Lucius easily stepped in. "Let me guess. Has Arthur Weasley been gossiping about his brood of a dozen-"

"Lucius!" Narcissa admonished.

Kingsley nodded, grateful for the distraction to move on from discussing children who were at Hogwarts, or not. "Arthur is a fine fellow. And yes, he does keep me well-informed about his sons' and daughter's lives at Hogwarts."

"How ever do you make it through?" Lucius said with a frown, though his eyes held a hint of mirth Draco rarely saw from his father.

Draco smiled politely, as his parents began to chat about other Ministry stiffs Draco hardly knew or cared about. He tried to keep track of names and events for future references, but he couldn't help but watch as his parents de-aged right before his eyes. They had never laughed like that when it was just the three of them. He liked this version of his parents better.

But beneath the laughter was a hint of sadness, a grave sense that someone, or someones were missing. Even Draco was aware of it. And he had an inkling of what it was.

The salad in his stomach started to turn as he observed Kingsley Shacklebolt. The wizard had been arranged to be married to Marie Delacour well before he had been born and yet, he still wore his wedding ring on his left hand.

He wore a gold chain beneath his expensive robes, and if Draco had to guess, it contained the same emblem that was on Granger's bracelet. Unbeknownst to the Auror, he had a daughter who was still alive, Draco's parents had a god-daughter, and all knew nothing about it.

"Excuse me," Draco stood up from the table suddenly, drawing the attention of the adults. "I apologize, I'm not feeling well. I think I'll retire to my room now."

His mother gave him a concerning once-over. "Draco, is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Mother," he assured her.

Lucius peered at his son, but said nothing. He nodded and granted him permission to leave.

Draco inclined his head towards their guest. "It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Shacklebolt. I apologize for retiring so soon, but I hope it won't be the last time we meet."

"Of course, it won't," Kingsley supplied, with an easy grin. "It was nice to meet you as well, Draco."

"Do you want me to have Mispy send your dessert to your room?" Narcissa asked, as Draco pushed in his chair.

Draco shook his head, as he placed his dinner napkin on his plate. "I'll be fine. Goodnight, Mother. Father. Mr. Shacklebolt."

Except he wasn't going straight to his room. After he left the adults to start on their next course, he hooked a left and started a path towards the front door and the Manor gates beyond.

* * *

On the outside, Hermione was cold from winter's frost. Her travelling cloak was sturdy, but exposed to the elements she started to shiver and grew frustrated she couldn't perform magic outside of Hogwarts. However on the inside, she was warm from a combination of adrenaline and nerves. It made for an upset stomach and trembling limbs. Mixed with the madness of travelling by port-key, Hermione honestly thought she might vomit as soon as she landed before the Manor gates.

And heavens, what a gate it was. The wrought iron were at least four meters high, but they were in the poorest condition. They appeared rusted through and broken, and when she reached a hand out to touch the meatl, she pulled back from the heat of the protective ward that surrounded it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a familiar smug voice warned. Suddenly the rusted gate opened to reveal Malfoy. "Father would know you're here and then you would ruin the surprise."

Hermione stepped through the gate and the perimeter ward, feeling strong magic wash over her. It caressed her center, as if taking the temperature of her magical core before it left. "What was that?"

With a wave of his wand, Malfoy closed the gate behind her. "An old family ward set by my grandfather. Let's just say, be glad you aren't a Muggle or Muggle-born."

Hermione could only imagine what pox she currently would be sporting if had she been someone else. "How cruel." She turned to view the gate she had just walked through and was surprised to learn it was actually a pristine, functioning gate. "It's charmed to look decrepit," she observed. "Let me guess, to ward away Muggles."

Malfoy tapped his temple, indicating she was correct. As the two walked up the path, she took in Malfoy's evening wear. He was impeccably dressed in an expensive navy button up, black trousers and smart dinner shoes. Begrudgingly, she internally admitted he made everything look effortless. "Am I interrupting something? I don't want to appear rude."

"Father and Kingsley should be settling down to cigars and brandy in the study. I'd say you're right on time."

Hermione breathed out a puff of cold breath of air as she took in the grandeur of the Manor before her. Surrounded by immaculate grounds and lush landscaping, was a miniature castle from her picture books of old, full of turrets and floor to ceiling windows. As Malfoy led them across the large entryway still outfitted with Christmas decorations, her heart began to race. She walked across marble floors, after she gave her cloak to an elf, and made her way in when gooseflesh suddenly rose on her neck.

Laughter, booming laughter and a hurried reply had she and Malfoy turning to their right. Her breath quickened as a tall man in a deep blue jacket and vest combination appeared next to Lucius Malfoy. Her heart raced and she had a small moment to think Lucius might hex her on the spot. It made her palm her wand in her pocket just in case.

Sensing her apprehension, Malfoy stepped in front of her and cleared his throat. It was good that he did because hers suddenly went dry.

Lucius spotted his son and his guest first. "Draco, you didn't tell me we were expecting more company this evening?"

But Hermione found her courage and stepped forward to stand next to Malfoy, "Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Her voice wavered only slightly. Bully for her.

The wizard peered at her, his brows drawing together as he took a hesitant step towards her. "Yes. Who are you?" he asked. His voice was just as powerful and soothing as it was in the memory Malfoy had pulled from her subconscious. Air cruelly left her lungs and all courage fled. The young man in her memory, the same who had pleaded with his wife to stay, had aged some but his facial features remained the same. Distantly, she wondered if she had changed too much since he last saw her?

She swallowed, unable to get to the words out. She lifted her charm bracelet dumbly within the candle lit foyer. "My name is…"

"…Emme?" Kingsley whispered reverently, as she equally replied, "Hermione."

The pair stared at each other for the space of two heartbeats. She didn't know how this moment was supposed to go, but quicker than she imagined, she found herself swept into an imaginably tight hug. It was constricting and all-encompassing. She kept her arms down by her sides, unsure where to place them as the man, who smelt of cocoa and fresh pine, released her and moved closer to study her face.

He pushed the curls from forehead as he examined her. "Is this a trick?" he whispered.

Hermione held up her charm bracelet, "I figured this had to possess magical properties, since it grew as I did, never once becoming tight. My parents told me I've had it since I was adopted -"

"Fifteen years ago?" he guessed.

She nodded silently, emotion keeping words from her. So much for her rehearsed speech.

Slowly the Auror pulled back, though one hand remained on her shoulder as if to ground him, as the other lifted a chain hidden from view from his interior shirt. "I had a matching charm bracelet made for my daughter when she was born. It was to match the one my father gave to me." At the bottom of the now exposed chain, was the same emblem, a golden lightning bolt fashioned with the same stone as hers.

So very overcome, she brought two hands to her mouth in shock.

"Draco?" a soft voice asked beyond the reunion. With hurried clicks of her heels, Narcissa Malfoy bounded down the stairs towards the commotion occurring within the foyer. "Draco, who is this?"

Lucius took an unsure step back from the scene as he eyed his son, then his wife, as she finally approached.

Draco turned from the pair of Shacklebolts to his father and mother to explain. "You remember Hermione Granger? Except, she isn't exactly a..." he seemed unsure how to continue in the midst of the moment, "a Granger, it seems," he finished.

Narcissa looked between their old friend, who had changed from withdrawn and sullen wizard to a man now full of wonder and delight. He and the girl were currently embraced. "Surely, you do not mean...?" Narcissa gasped and placed a hand over her mouth.

"She can't be," Lucius affirmed, though he was not entirely convinced himself.

"She is," Kingsley stated confidently from his place beside Hermione. He removed his wand from his sheathe and waved it over her head and then his. " _Sanguis Revelare_."

A shimmer of white light swirled around Hermione and Kingsley and until the pair of white lights, shimmered and turned a matching shade of gold. "A positive match," he spoke loud enough for the room to hear. "My daughter, she is alive!" He whooped suddenly in joy and bent to pick Hermione up and spin her.

The weight of so many years lost between them vanished as she threw her arms around his neck, "I'm sorry."

Kingsley pulled her into a tight hug again as he lowered her to the floor, and this time she could feel wetness dampen the curls at the top of her head. It mixed with her own.

"What on earth could you ever be sorry for? My sweet, Emme. Merlin, you have returned to me," he pulled away from her and tipped her chin towards him. He gasped in joy-shock. "You look so much like your mother," he said on a sad smile. That caused tears to well up in her eyes as she worried her bottom lip. Kingsley turned to his old friend, with unshed tears in his eyes. "Lucius, does she not look like Marie?"

As he truly looked at Hermione for the first time, Lucius paled as if he had seen a ghost. Lucius Malfoy had always brushed off those he thought beneath him, and a chance run-in with Potter and his Mudblood the summer before Draco's second year had been nothing but a distasteful memory in his mind. He blinked as he tried to reconcile the blurry image of a homely girl then with the confirmed issue of Marie and Kingsley Shacklebolt before him now. "But it cannot be, we thought … she was dead."

"Apparently," Draco offered from between his mother and father. "She was adopted by Muggles. When I saw her bracelet, I recognized Shacklebolt's emblem. I knew then there had to be more to it."

Narcissa hugged Lucius' slack arm in abject elation. She laughed, her eyes bright with unshed tears at this most unexpected development. "That is why you asked me so many questions about Kingsley and his family last summer!? Oh, Draco, why didn't you tell me?"

Draco observed the blissful and yet shy father and daughter as they interacted. "I wanted to be sure."

Hermione barely noticed the conversation going on next to her, she was so enraptured by Kingsley. He had the same charm as her, the same kind, brown eyes. She gave him a watery smile, "I'm sorry I can't give you back what you've lost. That so much time as passed. When I first had a suspicion…"

Kingsley lovingly held Hermione's face in his hands. The last time he had done so she had been an infant and now his little girl was a teenager. Suddenly, there wasn't enough time in the world. "Come," he bade her quickly. "You must tell me everything." He looked to the Malfoys. "Is there somewhere we can sit?"

That snapped Lucius back to the present. He cleared his throat and indicated for the reunited family to follow him with an outstretched hand. "Of, course. Please, follow me." As he led them out of the foyer and into the Manor, he stared at the witch, his shock still clear.

Kingsley tucked Hermione's arm under his as the two followed behind Lucius and Narcissa, who kept turning to glance over their shoulder and peer at their god-daughter as if she were an elusive fairy. Draco walked behind the reunited Shacklebolts trying his best not to laugh at his parents' reaction. Narcissa bade them to spend a few moments alone, stating she would have tea sent in. After she closed the door, Kingsley led Hermione to sit on a small couch.

And so, Hermione began her story.

She started at the beginning and told him that she had been adopted from a local hospital in her home town. He'd seemed surprised, and when she asked, he sadly informed her that the night they found Marie's body it was over 60 kilometers away from the hospital Hermione had named. If Marie had left with Hermione on that night long ago, how did an infant end up separated from her mother and across the countryside?

Hermione didn't have the answer to that one, but she vowed to research and find out what out really happened that night. She told him about Helen and Gregory Granger and how much of a good home they gave her. How much they loved her. Hermione could see sadness pool within the man's eyes and pressed on quickly into her later years. She told him how excited she was to find out she was a witch. How much she loved  _Hogwarts, A History_ , and found such a home within the ancient castle among its books and secrets. Kingsley laughed and told her Marie used to read the same tome to her when she was a child. Hermione smiled at that.

They were on their second pot of tea when she finished with her friendship with Neville, Harry, and Ron and how a chance meeting with Draco Malfoy led to a discovery of her true lineage.

"He gave me a picture of you and Marie," she recalled that night in the library. "You were standing beside the Malfoys and I recognized myself, my bracelet actually." She fiddled with the charm bracelet again.

"Draco Malfoy gave you this picture?" he queried.

Hermione nodded as she observed the wizard. Both she and he sat with one leg drawn under the other as they faced each other, their heads resting in one hand. She found their mirroring poses endearing.

"It's funny because he didn't mention a word of this to me earlier."

Hermione visibly released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I didn't want him to tell anyone until I was ready," she admitted. She wondered what it must've took for Malfoy to not tell his parents or Kingsley sitting right there in front of him. It made her admire him a little bit.

Kingsley read his daughter's posture, how it relaxed it became after she realized the Malfoy heir had kept her secret. "You two have become close?" he asked very evenly.

Hermione's head lounged back on the sofa cushion with a grimace. "I'd hardly call it that. He was a prat before he found out my true lineage, and he's still one now. Just a bit more tolerable, I'd suppose." She found it easy to share her thoughts with Kingsley. Initially she thought she might be timid or shy, but happily she found they had a natural connection. She fell into an easy conversation with him, and imagined how much closer they might have been, had they had these past fifteen years together. She smiled sadly as she played with the fabric of the expensive couch.

"Does he know his parents were anointed as your god-parents?" he asked carefully. "That they still are?" Given their shaky history, Kingsley hated to bring her any kind of duress. He hated that the Malfoy heir had been so unkind to his daughter in her earlier years just because he thought she was a Muggle-born. He shook his head at Lucius' beliefs which had obviously passed to his son. He was simultaneously hurt and upset that he hadn't been there to experience her first trip to King's Cross, nor protect her from bullies like Draco and his ilk, or share with her their family's importance to their world. He wanted to say all this and more, but silently held this information to himself.

She nodded lazily, her eyes drooping. "Oh yes, Malfoy's aware alright. I think that's why he's been more tolerable of late." She quickly thought back to his Legilimency stunt and instantly soured. "Though not always."

The Auror was quiet for a moment, as he considered his daughter. "You two have a complicated history, it seems."

"He's a mean, racist little boy who thinks because of some change in my blood status that I'll suddenly forget how he's treated me and my friends, but I won't. All because of some affiliation between our family and his," she scoffed, not recognizing her brief ownership of Kingsley's family.

But Kingsley did. He smiled as she turned to face him.

"But I don't want to talk about him," she changed the subject. "Can I ask you where you grew up? Where did you meet Marie? Did she go to Hogwarts or Beaubaxtons?"

Kingsley laughed at her rapid-fire questions as he glanced at the time-piece on the wall. "It is well past one in the morning. Are your… parents expecting you?" he tried his best to sound concerned, but to the both of them, it sounded awkward. Both chuckled at the attempt. Hermione looked away politely as Kingsley wiped another tear from his eye. The reality that the long-separated father and daughter had finally reunited sunk in.

"My parents believe I am spending New Years with Harry at Grimmauld Place. I don't have to leave just yet. Please, I want to know more," she spoke to her hands unable to meet his eyes and mention her parents in the same breath. Hermione gathered he wanted to know more as well, but was too kind to push her.

Kingsley stared at her before a slow, measured smile lit his face. "Alright," he acquiesced. "But let's move this to the kitchen where we can make some coffee, deal?"

Hermione smiled back. "Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support - I hope you're enjoying!


	8. Flying (Part I)

There had been much ado in the Malfoy household since the previous evening. Narcissa could barely contain her surprise and joy that Kingsley had gained a piece of Marie after all these years. It took all she had not to interrupt the much-needed time between Kingsley and the former Ms. Granger, but Lucius and Draco bade her to wait.

After Draco had retired to his rooms for the evening, Narcissa discussed with Lucius the ramifications this revelation would surely bring. No matter their families' affiliation, there was a war coming and House Malfoy and House Shacklebolt were on squarely opposite sides. She sternly warned Lucius that she would not stand by and let tragedy strike their families again after such a joyous reunion. Her husband was silent following her ultimatum, but she knew he had heard her. Lucius was a cunning man, and participated in things she rather not think about, but she knew he placed his family's well-being above all. If the Malfoys were going to accept Ms. Granger as their god-daughter, and Circe willing, a future daughter-in-law, then their family needed to have a frank conversation about their true loyalties.

Narcissa cemented the answer to where her loyalties stood as she entered the kitchens and gasped at the sight. "Have you two been up all night?" A few minutes before dawn, Narcissa found Kingsley and his daughter seated at a breakfast nook primarily for the elves' use. "I came down to the study and you weren't there. I thought you might have left before we'd…" The Malfoy matriarch drifted off, sensing she had interrupted an important family moment. Father and daughter were huddled over mugs of coffee, and though they were haggard and exhausted, both wore matching faces of content.

They turned to her as she entered, and Narcissa felt out of place, even within her own kitchen. "Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting."

Kingsley relaxed into his seat. "No, it's alright. I imagine you want to properly introduce yourself to your god-daughter."

Hermione looked apprehensively at Kingsley and something squeezed around Narcissa's heart. She immediately sought to placate the worry found in the young witch's eyes. "Yes, I would love nothing more." Narcissa approached, with eyes only for Hermione. "Our past interactions haven't been the most pleasant, I can admit. We weren't very kind to you, dear, were we?"

Hermione frowned at the woman, and shook her head in the negative.

Narcissa held her hands before her, the picture of contriteness. "For that I apologize. On behalf of my husband and I, we are sincerely sorry for how we have treated you. I imagine we haven't completely lived up to Kingsley's standard. But if he can look past our collective faults, I hope you can find a place in your heart to forgive us as well. I would very much like to get to know you. If that is alright with you, of course."

Hermione looked to Kingsley, as if searching for permission. But Kingsley was content to let the teenager make her own decisions. He nodded to Hermione encouragingly. Now that Narcissa was not scowling at her because of her inferior birth, Hermione found the woman to be quite warm and approachable.

Hermione twisted her lips as she considered the woman's apology and then stood from her place on the alcove and offered her hand. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm Hermione. It's a pleasure," she stated with a small smile.

Narcissa beamed, so very pleased. "Oh, dear." She moved to envelope the witch in a hug. "The pleasure is all mine." She spoke into Hermione's curls. "You've given us all so much hope," she sniffled as she pulled back, giving the young witch a once-over. "Oh, look at you. The last time I saw you, you were in nappies and just learning to walk."

Like any embarrassed teenager, Hermione had no idea what to say to that. So she just smiled, and stared at her shoes and the day old party dress she still wore.

"But look at me, blathering on about days of yore. You must be exhausted. If you would indulge me…?" Narcissa looked over her shoulder to the Auror who watched them with a growing grin. "Kingsley, you'll stay for brunch, right?" The polite order was disguised as a question giving Kingsley the illusion of choice.

Kingsley couldn't help but smile at the matriarch's 'request'. "If I'm being invited to stay, then I'll require a room to rest and change in."

"I'll have Mipsy show you to our best room. Do you mind if I borrow this young lady for a moment?" She asked as she tucked Hermione's arm under hers.

Kingsley gave Hermione an arched brow, silently asking if she was okay. Hermione nodded back.

"Wonderful!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Brunch will be at 11am. I think everyone's taking a bit of a lie-in this morning with the festivities later this evening. Hermione, would you walk with me?" But they had already started to move out of the kitchen. Hermione had no choice but to follow.

Hermione tried to be polite and not gawk at the meticulous decorations around her, but Malfoy Manor was in fact, a splendid piece of art. It reminded her of a primary school field trip to Buckingham Palace. There were fresh flowers all around and natural light illuminated one side of the Manor and its baroque-ish trimmings.

Narcissa led Hermione through a series of halls on their way to their destination. As they turned down a corridor of portraits featuring previous Malfoy Lords, the occupants begrudgingly inclined their head to Hermione and Narcissa as they passed. Swallowing audibly, Hermione found it disconcerting, especially compared to Walburga Black's ranting and raving portrait at Grimmauld Place.

"I imagine this must be a terribly confusing time for you," Narcissa broke Hermione's reverie as they reached the main foyer and the grand staircase behind it.

"It is," Hermione admitted slowly. "But it's also exciting. There's so much my parents, I mean my adopted parents, could never tell me because they didn't know. Finding Kingsley has been like finding that puzzle piece I knew was missing. The picture is slowly being filled in."

Narcissa smiled at the curly-headed witch. "You two look happy. And that gives me so much joy. Lucius too."

Hermione retreated inward at the mention of the senior Malfoy.

Narcissa patted the arm that sat on top of her own at her God-daughter's obvious discomfort. "For all his faults, Lucius really does care for Kingsley. We were truly distraught when we thought we lost you and Marie. You have to know that."

"I find it difficult to reconcile a man who tried to kill my best friend's sister with a dark artefact, and would rather see others like me at the bottom of his shoe, with someone who cares," Hermione huffed. "He's taught his son to hate others on no other basis than birth. I'm sorry but I find it hard to believe that he really cares."

Narcissa sighed. "Yes, there are some things that can be approved upon, I do not doubt that. But know that Lucius, and by extension, Draco, will do everything in their power to protect you." Narcissa squeezed Hermione's arm. "You're one of us now. And I've not another god-daughter, so you'll have to forgive me if I spoil you senseless."

Hermione shook her head quickly, her eyes wide. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to…"

"Nonsense, dear. It's the least I could do." Narcissa stopped in the hallway and turned to face Hermione. She squeezed both of the younger witch's hands within her own as crystal clear blues sparkled with unshed tears. "You must know, I loved Marie… more than I loved my own sisters. You see, Bella was lost to the beginnings of madness and my father ordered we cut contact with Andy. After Marie's marriage to Kingsley, we grew especially close. We even planned for you and Draco to be close in age." Narcissa pushed an errant curl from the young girl's cheek. "And she was so in love with you when you arrived. We all were…" Narcissa trailed off and then dabbed the corner of her eye as a tear fell.

"I've never forgotten her," Narcissa pressed on. "I tried to keep our families close despite the tragedy that had befallen us. But with your return, it's like we've been given a second chance. And if you'd like, I'd like to share what I knew about Marie with you. I'm sure there are things Kingsley would be the better person to speak with, but…"

"I'd like that." Hermione found the admission easy.

"Wonderful." Narcissa pulled the witch into a hug. "Again, it is just a small step on the way to forgiveness and even if we never get there, dear, you will always be welcome in this home. I do hope you know that. Ah, here we are," she announced as they paused outside a set of double white and gold trimmed doors.

"Where is here?"

Narcissa chuckled. "Your room, of course." She opened the door revealing a room that faced east, for rays of winter sunshine had painted the room a brilliant shade of gold, yellow, and bright white. The room sported double-French doors that led to an open-air balcony and a poster bed made for a princess. Her travelling satchel was laid on a white and yellow chaise steps from the bed. An antique armoire and mirror outfitted the rest of the room.

Narcissa left Hermione to orient herself as she walked to the room's interior closets. "I'll have Mipsy come and launder your things if you wish. And they are plenty of blouses, skirts, and shoes should you require additional clothing."

"Oh, no need, Mrs. Malfoy. I brought my own." Hermione indicated to her travelling bag.

"Please call me, Narcissa, dear."

Hermione smiled, but knew she never would. She had not been raised that way. "You're too kind," she politely demurred.

"Like I said. I have sixteen years' worth of spoiling to make up for. Draco will be jealous, I'm sure. But he will understand. Please get some rest and do not hesitate to ask should you need anything. Brunch will be at 11am in the Greenhouse." Narcissa backed out the room, closing the door behind her. "Ta."

Hermione pushed her hair back from her forehead and released a deep breath. This was certainly a lot to take in. But rather than process it all now, because Merlin, she had been up since breakfast well over twenty fours ago, Hermione collapsed into the feather soft bed and snuggled under cashmere blankets and silk sheets. She was asleep in less than a minute.

When she awoke several hours later, she momentarily forgot how she had come to rest in such decadence. Then in a blink, everything came rushing back. She was at Malfoy Manor, her god-parents were the Malfoys, and Malfoy had arranged for her to meet her long-lost father. The close of 1995 was in contention for the best day ever; it was right there with the day she found out she was a witch.

While she showered and got ready for brunch, she briefly considered the clothes Narcissa placed into her closet, but once she fingered through the expensive fabric, she quickly reconsidered. She ended up donning her favorite wool skirt and a button-up blouse. When it came time to leave she refused to call for an elf to show her the way, and resolved to find it on her own.

Which was unfortunate because three hallways later, she was effectively lost within the grand Manor. Hurrying down the hall, she tried to back-track her steps when she ran into one cane-less Lucius Malfoy.

He looked more relaxed than she'd ever seen in his is blue oxford and smart trousers. She'd never seen him outside his expensive garb, complete with cane, and she drew back in surprise at his relaxed nature.

"Oh, Ms. Granger… That is to say...," he faltered a bit, before he offered a half-smile. "Just  _what_  should I call you?"

Her heart sped up at the awkward situation with her newly-found god-father. Narcissa was warm, inviting, and easier to connect with, but Hermione imagined it would be harder to come to terms with Lucius Malfoy than his wife.

"Um… well, you can call me Hermione, or Ms. Granger, if you wish. I recognize my birth name is Shacklebolt, but it is not a name I am used to. At least not yet."

His eyes narrowed as he appraised her. She lifted her chin under the scrutiny. "Yes, I imagine it will take some time for all of us to acclimate to the new order of things." He noticed her attire and then their location. "Are you lost?"

Hermione exhaled through her nose, hating to admit any kind of weakness to the man before her. "I was trying to find my way to the Greenhouse, but must've lost my way."

Lucius smirked at her obvious stubbornness. "I was just on my way. Would you care to join me on the walk over?"

Hermione gave a tight grin and nodded amidst the discomfort. "Thank you."

Though they walked side by side, the distance between the two was insurmountable.

"I'm sure my wife has spoken to you about our past …" Lucius paused as he searched for the right term, "differences."

Hermione snorted as the wizard continued.

"Yes, well it is her hope  _and_  mine that we can put that unpleasantness behind us."

Hermione stopped as Lucius continued walking on. Once he noticed she wasn't walking beside him any longer, he turned with a questioning brow. "Is it really?" Hermione asked, arms crossed. "I was nothing but a 'Mudblood' to you before last night. A blood spell and a certain surname suddenly changes all that?"

Lucius smirked, hands behind his back. "People change Ms. Granger. I'm sure if you can charm my son, then I daresay there's hope for us all."

Hermione grew perplexed at the elder Malfoy's words. She considered the sincerity of his statement before resolving to remain skeptical. "I truly hope so. For both our families' sake." She rejoined him in his walk to the Greenhouse. The discomfort had not abated, but it lessened for the time being.

As the pair of Shacklebolts and trio of Malfoys sat down to a late brunch of poached eggs, hotcakes, and a selection of meats and fruits, they discussed a variety of topics. They discussed whether they should go public with this discovery in the new year. After a robust discussion on the merits and downsides of such a move, they decided not to. Hermione wanted to finish the remainder of her 5th year with relative normalcy. They could go public this summer, only after Hermione spoke with her parents. Naricssa volunteered to go with Kingsley and Hermione to visit the Grangers, but Kingsley politely declined her offer.

Hermione also decided she was going to tell her friends. Now that she had met Kingsley, Hermione wanted to be honest with her friends about her discovery. The Malfoys scoffed at that, somewhat mistrusting of the Weasleys' intentions once they learned the truth. Malfoy openly mocked her friends and warned that her plan to go public this summer would be foiled as soon as the Weasleys found out. After a heated defense, Kingsley backed his daughter's decision with quiet finality.

They also discussed summer plans. Narcissa invited Hermione on a shopping trip with her to the continent; she wouldn't take no for an answer, but Hermione did shorten the length of the trip from two weeks to a long weekend. With her parents' blessing, Hermione wanted to spend the majority of the summer with Kingsley. He liked that idea, and the Malfoys wholeheartedly agreed.

Hermione found the conversation between them all stilted at times, but as long as they stayed away from land mines like Voldemort's return, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Malfoys' tumultuous past with Hermione, the conversation flowed well. They talked about the past often.

Hermione and Malfoy could only listen as their parents spoke of life before the first wizarding war with rapt attention. Happy to learn about her biological parents from first hand accounts, Hermione eagerly lapped up any information she could from their conversation.

She caught Malfoy smirking at her across the table more than once, ever smug. She may or may not have stuck her tongue out at him.

* * *

Several hours later found the group ready to ring in the new year. Hermione had a feeling the year 1996 was going to hold a lot of change for her, as well as for the people whose company she was somewhat enjoying. "So where do the Malfoys watch this exclusive New Year's celebration?" Hermione moved closer to the balcony's edge, her neck craned towards the inky sky above. She was ready for this impressive display of fireworks she had heard about during dinner. It was close to midnight and she was ready to begin a promising new year.

"Watch?" Lucius parroted back to her with a barely-there grin, as he approached from behind.

The younger Malfoy approached from her left and touched something to her arm. "We don't watch the celebration, Granger." She noticed a broom handle held out to her shoulder, and frowned at the object as if it offended her. "We  _experience_  it. At Crestmoor, of course."

"Crestmoor?" Hermione asked as she whirled to face the blond, but he cryptically did not respond.

"Follow us, Granger," he instructed instead. "That is, if you can keep up."

That was when she noticed Narcissa held a white painted broom, her hair twisted into a French plait. The older witch had donned sturdy travelling wear; in fact, all the Malfoys had on leather travelling gear.

"Oh no," Hermione shook her head at the broom Malfoy held out for her. "No, I don't fly well."

"Nonsense, Granger. You're a Shacklebolt now, and a Malfoy by extension. You'll fly with us." He winked at her.

She caught the broom handle Malfoy dropped into her hand, watching as Lucius and Narcissa elegantly (because there was no other way to describe it really) took off from their balcony.

"No, you don't understand," Hermione implored to the blond. "I  _really_  don't like flying, especially on something as insecure as a piece of wood."

Kingsley walked up to her, a Firebolt in hand. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We won't let anything happen to you." He mounted his broom and held his hand out to her. "Do you trust me?"

Hermione swallowed nervously as she watched Malfoy kick off with a flourish. She looked back at Kingsley, the worry surely all over her face. "I do," she hesitantly gave, as she threw one leg over the broom. "It's the laws of gravity that worry me more."

Kingsley laughed heartily as he lifted a few feet off the ground and waited for her to mount her broom. "Gravity means nothing for a brilliant witch," he gave on a laugh.

Hermione grimaced as she ordered the broom  _up_  within her mind. She held on for dear life as she lifted to where Kingsley hovered above the balcony. "I think I may be the only one here who flies irregularly."

"Well, there is no better time than the present to catch up," Kingsley offered. "Are you ready?"

"You'll be close by?" she found herself asking, fear starting to creep around the edges.

"I promise I will."

And so, the small travelling party took off for Crestmoor. Since she and Kingsley had no idea where they were going, Lucius took point, his dark cloak flapping in the wind as his son adeptly stayed on his tail. The Malfoy men picked up in speed and begrudgingly, Hermione lowered along her broom to increase her speed as well. It would do no good to end up lost now.

She was surprised to see how easily the men flew around in and around each other. Of course she lagged behind them all, the least skilled in flying, but she could not deny that the Malfoy men and Kingsley Shacklebolt knew how to handle a broom. It must've been from their collective time playing Quidditch.

They were currently imitating Quidditch moves, Hermione was sure of it. She couldn't name the move to save her life, but she had watched enough matches to recognize the fancy footwork. A few meters above her, Kingsley imitated something akin to a stunt she'd seen on one of those extreme boarding competitions. The Auror demonstrated it twice and to her horror-surprise, Draco and Lucius executed the move perfectly in succession.

She sulked on her broom like a right witch watching the three of them execute fancy moves, one after the other.

Glancing about, Hermione saw that Narcissa had took up residence on Hermione's left.

She had to do a double-take. The graceful witch was flying side-saddle; it was the only way she could describe it. She had two legs properly folded to the right side of the broom, but steered the broom easily with one hand before her and the other, behind to anchor her.

Her god-mother winked at the fish-like impression Hermione had to be sporting at the moment. Quickly snapping her mouth shut, Hermione marveled as the witch's elegance even in the midst of flying. Chancing a quick look to the speeding ground below, she found they were about 100 meters above the ground. Her stomach flipped and lurched.

"Look up, Emme!" Hermione heard Kingsley's voice from somewhere above her.

She lifted her head and almost threw her heading off. With two hands, she steered the broom hard to the right to course-correct. It took her a moment, but when she did, Kingsley praised her maneuvering.

She swallowed back bile from shot nerves.

"Alright, back there, Granger?" Malfoy called as he pulled up beside her, his pale hair matched the moonlight.

"Just fine!" she shouted through clenched teeth. The blond had the audacity to fly parallel to her. She cursed them all for making it look so easy. But as long as they were flying straight, she gathered she could handle that much.

Hermione focused her concentration on keeping her broom straight, and not running into any sudden obstacles.

"We're about two kilometers out, straight ahead. Want to make a go of it?" His blond air whipped from his head in waves as they zoomed through the night wind. The bits of his travelling shirt not fastened by leather billowed and flapped ferociously in the wind. Malfoy sat up on his broom then, using one hand to steer, furthering show off his skill. So he could perfectly execute complex Quidditch maneuvers and fly one handed? Hermione would have rolled her eyes if she didn't need to see where she was going.

"Straight ahead, you say?" She turned to Malfoy, and cursed that she hadn't thought to tie up her hair like Narcissa before they left. Wild curls obstructed her view, but she could see the blond had levelled his broom out along with hers. Hermione smirked and lowered along her broom to match Malfoy's position. "You're on."

And with that, she took off. Her broom seemed to read her internal command and with an extra kick, it took off at seemingly warp speed. Her heart raced, and her hands grew sweaty as they clung to the broom's handle. Her lips were chapped from the biting wind, but it was … Exhilarating. White-knuckled, teeth-chattering, lip-biting exhilaration took hold as she noticed out that the edge of her broomstick begun to edge out Malfoy's, as the unlikely duo flew just beneath the clouds and the stars.

Suddenly prior fears lessened as her competitive nature took hold. Eyes narrowed in determination as she tried to defeat Slytherin's seeker in the one aspect he always exceeded in. In the distance, she could make out a crop of hills. And on top, sat a country cottage, or Crestmoor, Hermione assumed. The beginnings a smirk, worthy of any Slytherin, started to rise when suddenly a curtain of blond fringe obstructed her sight.

She sat up on her broom at that and almost collided with Draco Malfoy… who was now upside down, flying backwards, and just above her!

How in the hell did he manage that?

He was smirking, which upside down to her looked like a crooked frown. His wind-whipped hair flew out from his face towards her. He looked quite proud of his feat, but it was what he did next that caused her heart to leap into her throat.

With one hand steady on his broom, he reached down to grab a hold of hers. She felt her broom jerk at the new command that had just taken ahold of it.

"Mal _foy_!" she warned, as the apprehension she left previously behind began to make an appearance. Cold dread started to curdle in her stomach.

"Trust me, Granger, you're going to enjoy this," was all he gave before he pushed the handle of her broom.

She screwed her eyes tight as the world lurched to the side and then dipped. Then she felt the sensation of falling. A scream of unadulterated fear pushed passed her vocal cords, out of her throat, and into air as she felt her world spin and upend.

She was going to fall. She knew it; she could feel her legs slipping as she turned upside down. Curls now flew passed her face and all around.

"Hermione!" Malfoy jubilantly called. "Hermione, open your eyes!"

She didn't know why she did, maybe it was because he used her given name. Or maybe she just wanted to curse him with her eyes before she fell to certain doom, but she stopped screaming and opened them.

The first thing she saw was his eyes. Grey irises, outfitted with silver specks widened the instant they met hers. She registered nothing but pure shock as she and Malfoy stared at each other across the distance. The tips of her curls danced on his cheeks as a pink tinge spread from out from his nose.

Since she was now flying backwards and upside down in his place; he was right-side up to her. He still held onto her broom handle and his, guiding them through the night air. Then to cap the moment, explosions sounded somewhere to their side as vibrant colors illuminated their faces.

But in the midst of the celebration, they only held eyes for the other. Hermione's heart raced, from fear and something else as he held her gaze.

The trust in the moment was implicit, he would not steer her into harm she couldn't see and he would not let her fall. She didn't know when she'd reached this point of trust with Malfoy, but there it was, new and fragile. Blood rushed to the tips of her ears as he reached forward to pull wayward curls that had stuck to her parted lips.

The celebration of the New Year sounded all around them. Each boom and resounding bang shook their brooms and reverberated in her chest.

Cold finger tips brushed the underside of her chin, her lips and cheek as he pushed her hair away from her face. Her stomach flipped. Her mouth fell open (or was it down) in shock and maybe a little air-sickness too, before Malfoy pushed her broom handle again. With a whirl and a dip, she was right side up. After she had made the full three-sixty, Malfoy released her broom and spun away from her.

With two hands, she pulled up on the handle to slow her speed, her heart struggling to find regularity. Malfoy lowered until he was few meters from her, panting heavily from the exertion and … maybe, maybe something more.

Below them and above them the night sky had been painted red, blue, and white in successive explosions as the official New Year was rung in across the countryside. Fireworks she could reach out and touch deafened her ears to all sound, save that of her thundering heart.

Hermione didn't care for the beautiful, and quite impressive, show of New Year's fireworks all around her.

She still had eyes for Malfoy. Dimly, she was aware that she should be angry at him for pulling such a stunt, yet she found herself unable. She was simultaneously numb and aware of everything.

Malfoy hovered closer to her, his eyes reflecting the starbursts and searching as if he just noticed something for the first time. "Happy New Year, Hermione," he said after a beat.

She gripped her broom until her knuckles turned white, her head still reeling. "Happy New Year, Draco."

Below on the grounds of Crestmoor, three adults observed the scene before them, brooms in hand, as celebratory fireworks and a spark of another kind ignited in the sky above. Necks craned skyward, Lucius and Kingsley met each other's gaze over Narcissa's head. Kingsley frowned at Lucius' knowing smirk.


	9. A New Normal

The start of 1996 began on a relatively positive note, but Hermione was not naïve enough to think it would last. She wanted to maintain a sense normalcy (or as much normalcy that came with being Harry Potter's friend), but she knew things would move beyond her control the more people became aware of her true identity. It was a chance she was willing to take, despite the Malfoys misgivings. So, after the newness of the term had settled, she had quietly pulled Ginny, Ron, Harry and Neville aside once their common room had emptied for the night. She told them what she had learned from the start of the term, how she was the lost daughter of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Marie Delacour, and finished with her meeting Kingsley for the first time right before the New Year.

Ron was the first to scratch his neck from his place on the floor. "So, you're telling us Kingsley Shacklebolt is your  _dad_? You're a pureblood. And you found out because of Malfoy?"

Hermione conceded part of the point as she stroked Crookshanks' fur. "It's more like I suspected as such. Malfoy only confirmed my suspicions."

"Merlin, does this mean you're related to Fleur?" Ginny squeaked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Fleur's mother, Apolline, and Marie were sisters. I guess that would make us cousins." She wondered about other familial connections she had missed out on because of her past.

Harry nodded as he put the pieces of her story together in her head. "We were wondering where you were during the break and why you didn't come to Grimmauld Place. This certainly explains a lot."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I missed you all as well. But I decided to spend the New Year at Malfoy Manor at the last minute."

"Wait, you spent New Year's at Malfoy's house?" Ron asked.

Ginny crossed her arms as she appraised the witch across from her on the couch. "What else aren't you telling us, Hermione?"

"You have to understand. Malfoy informed me that Kingsley would be visiting his parents over the holidays. It seemed like the perfect time to meet," she explained to the group. Neville remained quiet as he listened to her reasoning.

"Just how much time are you spending with Malfoy?" Harry pressed from his place beside Ron on the floor.

"If you would stop interrupting me, Harry. I can tell you." Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Promise me you won't overreact." She waited until they had nodded in the affirmative before continuing, "The Malfoys are my god-parents."

A chorus of "What?!" and "Are you serious?" rang out, until she ssh-ed them.

"I am," she replied over the din. "Don't look at me like that, Ronald. It isn't as if I chose them. Kingsley and Lucius were in Slytherin together. They were close. I guess it was a logical choice at the time," she concluded, a bit haughtily.

"But Kingsley fought with the Order during the first war," Harry pointed out. "And Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater. I saw him the night Voldemort returned. How can he be your god-father?"

"I know it looks complicated, Harry. But some things aren't as black or white as you'd think."

Ron made a face as he sat with his back against the couch. "Please don't tell me you're starting a defense for the Malfoys, of all people."

"I'm starting a defense for a friendship!" she emphatically replied. "Sometimes you look past the faults in others because they are your friends," she said pointedly to Harry and Ron on the floor. "I don't know the reason why Kingsley remains friends with the Malfoys. But you should have seen them! They obviously share a lot of history. I'm a part of that history."

"Yes, well history is good," Harry replied. "But what about the future? Where do the Malfoys line up on that?"

Because they all knew where Hermione and Kingsley's future led. It led to fighting with the Order of the Phoenix against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"That I don't know," she admitted. "There were other matters to discuss at the time."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

Hermione indicated to their small group. "Like this. I wanted to tell you, and only you, before anyone else found out."

"I still don't see how Neville knew before us," Ron grumbled.

"Hey!" Neville reacted, offended.

"Shut it, Ron. She's telling us now," Ginny came to Neville's defense. "Blimey, Hermione. You're a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! Do you know the possibilities this could bring?" she exclaimed.

Hermione smiled appreciatively at Ron's younger sister, though she did not share the younger witch's enthusiasm. "Thanks, Gin. Yes, and that is why I wanted you all to know before the public did. I gather there will be much ado afterwards."

"You aren't kidding," Ginny whistled. "The papers will lose it once it's announced that a lost daughter from the Sacred Twenty-Eight has been found alive after she was thought to be dead."

"Exactly. Which is why I don't want this to get out before school dismisses for the summer," Hermione implored to the group. "I want to tell my parents in-person. Kingsley and I are planning to visit them this summer and if they approve, I would like to spend the summer with him."

"Well as long as you don't forget about us once you become a celebrity," Harry quipped as he nudged her leg goodheartedly; it was his way of letting her know he approved of her decision.

"Please, as if I'll displace the 'Chosen One'," she shoved his shoulder with her foot.

"Who's currently off his rocker, if you'd read the papers," Ron replied easily.

They all laughed before the obvious weighed upon them. "But what about the Malfoys?" Harry couldn't help his focus on the pureblood family.

Hermione narrowed her brows. "What about them?"

"Lucius was and still is a Death Eater," Harry stated matter-of-factly. "Even if he's your god-father, it will not make him suddenly want to change sides. It doesn't matter if he and Kingsley were friends, or if Kingsley named him your god-father. How are you both going to navigate this?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "We haven't exactly worked that part out yet."

And that was the truth of the matter.

From her brief interaction with the elusive pureblood family, she had learned that the Malfoys were a surprisingly loyal group. During their early morning talk over coffee, Kingsley informed her how Lucius took great pains to protect his family during the first wizarding war. While Kingsley had never met Lucius across the battlefield, he felt no regret in testifying on Lucius' behalf at his trial afterwards.

Hermione had gently asked why Lucius believed in Voldemort's cause, and stoically, the Auror responded, that it is in their nature as the Heir of a great House to seek the best, to seek power. As a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, there was an unspoken responsibility that they carried the future of the wizarding world. This weight demanded reverence to the past and a responsibility to the future. Kingsley informed her how his father had explained the duties, demands, and responsibilities as the Heir to their House, and how Lucius received the same training from his father at an early age. Kingsley did not agree with Lucius' plans to obtain power and prestige, and though he sought to persuade his friend at the outset, Kingsley couldn't dissuade Lucius' mind once it was made up. Thus, their Houses were set onto separate paths, and the two former friends' relationship grew strained.

Thoughtful, Hermione wondered what would make Lucius change his mind, and switch his trajectory on the road for power.

She was surprised to hear Kingsley's response then.  _His family_ , he had said to her. That statement made her regard the Malfoy Lord in a different light. Like she had said, not everything fit neatly into dark or light.

"Well, I don't see Voldemort's right hand man knocking on the door to Grimmauld anytime soon," Ron replied, drawing Hermione from her thoughts.

She shook her head and frowned, still contemplating Kingsley's words from before. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

* * *

Hermione found not much had changed after she revealed her secret after the start of the term. The fear that they would see or treat her differently abated the next day as they returned to their regular schedules. January quickly bled over to late February, Dumbledore's Army grew in their strength, and Hermione continued preparation for her O.W.L.S.; all was well for a time.

One particularly cold, February morning, she pulled on additional layers as she readied for the start of classes. Typically, Hermione was the first to leave before her roommates, but today she trudged slowly out of the portrait door after a late study session the night before. Few students rushed passed her in effort to eat a morning meal before the food was gone, but Hermione would be fine as long as she grabbed a cup of coffee and piece of fruit. Apparently, breakfast was quite a ruckus as she moved closer to the Great Hall's entrance.

Checking her satchel to make sure she had the right books and enough parchment, she felt the distinct feeling of being watched as she moved automatically to Gryffindor's table. Distantly, she noticed an eerie silence had befallen the Hall at the same time she entered the room. When she looked up from her satchel, she was surprised to see the entire student population staring at her.

Eyes wide, she thought to check her person, thinking she might have been the unbeknownst victim of a Weasley prank. But as she moved between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor's tables, she swallowed audibly as heads and eyes shadowed her every move.

Her neck grew warm as she moved through the gawking students. She noticed that most, if not all, were holding the morning edition of the  _Prophet_. In black and white, she could make out a picture of Kingsley hurrying into his office at the Ministry, before the door shut in the reporter's face. The picture re-wound and started all over again. Besides Kingsley's picture was a re-hashed picture of she and Harry, embraced in a hug before his first task at last year's Tri-Wizarding Tournament. Above the pictures in angry, bold print was the heading: " _Presumed Dead, Shacklebolt Heiress Found Alive and Masquerading as a Muggle-born_ ".

Nearly every student held a copy of the edition and stared at her as if they could discern the truth for themselves. Some looked at her with amazement, some with doubt, and others with scorn.

She slowed to a stop before Ron and the others, all holding the paper. Hermione saw up close the picture of herself, of Kingsley, as she re-scanned the headline for an obvious error.

"What is going on?" she hissed harshly, her neck and face now fully aflame. She snatched the paper from Ron who smiled sheepishly at her.

"Don't rightly know. The owls brought in the papers and then…" he indicated to the article as whispers down the table and across the aisles grew in fervor.

Horrified, Hermione read that beetle of a woman's front-page feature.

_Sixteen years ago, our world mourned with respected Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt's for the loss of his wife, Marie Shacklebolt née Delacour, and infant daughter, Emmeline (then aged 1). But now sources have confirmed the impossible. The wizarding world's own Anastasia Romanov has returned! Adopted muggle-born Hermione Granger, love interest to the Chosen One, has been confirmed as the lost Shacklebolt Heiress. Multiple sources confirmed a reunion between distraught father and daughter at Malfoy Manor, arranged by none other than Lucius Malfoy himself…._

Hermione threw down the paper in disgust. "That wretched woman!"

"Hermione, please tell me this is true." Lavender demanded from down the table, her eyes alight with amazement.

"Did you know all this time you weren't a Muggle-born?" Colin Creevey piped up, as he snapped a picture of a surprised Hermione.

There was no time to form a decent response, so Hermione quickly gathered her things, shooting worried glances at her friends. "How did this get out?" she seethed beneath her breath, while giving a withering stare to those who had started to gather around her.

Harry shrugged as Neville also gathered his things. "Let's get to class," Harry offered, in effort to talk in private.

Soon Harry, Ron, Neville had gathered their things to head to Transfiguration, while Ginny left for Herbology. Hermione couldn't move fast enough past the onlookers and other students who came forward to ask about her newly-acquired blood status. She was almost to the entryway when Marietta Edgecombe blocked her way.

"Are you doing this for the publicity?" Marietta asked with heap of snide.

"Marietta, leave her be," fellow member of Dumbledore's Army and Ravenclaw Cho Change spoke beside her.

Hermione huffed as she tightened her hands around the strap of her satchel, her frustration mounting. She owed zero explanation to this girl, nor the lot of students that had started to gather around. "Who on Earth would I plan something as idiotic as this?" she berated the Ravenclaw.

The red-head lifted her nose before the younger Gryffindor. "You always thought you were that better than us as a Muggle-born, and now this," Marrieta accused. "The know-it-all had go and turn princess on us," she spoke to the crowd. Some students even nodded in agreement with Marrieta.

Hermione saw red. Aside from a few, most never knew the hurt and pain she endured from never belonging in one world. And now in this world, there were sneers and whispers, as if she had plotted this entire mess.

"Are you going to run and cry to your newly-found  _daddy_ , now?" Marietta laughed. "Go ahead. It's not like you're the only student here with contacts at the Ministry." A smatter of students around Marietta laughed as well.

But rather than crying, Hermione reared her arm back and quickly moved. She smacked Marietta in the face, and the girl fell directly into Cho. Stepping through the commotion and Ron's jubilant calls, Hermione rushed from the Great Hall as anxiety started to take hold. But she didn't get far.

"I saw that Ms. Granger, or should I say Ms. Shacklebolt," a familiar drawl she regrettably recognized began behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut as her day was assuredly about to go from bad to worse. Hermione stopped in her tracks as she waited for their Potions professor to dole out her punishment.

"She was only defending herself," she heard Neville plead to Professor Snape in her defense.

Hermione turned to Professor Snape with weary eyes. She only wanted to get out of there.

Their professor took in her frazzled appearance and quietly clipped, "Detention. 8pm tonight." He turned back to the Great Hall and reprimanded Cho to assist Marietta to Madam Pomfrey's. The commotion at the entrance gave Hermione and the others time to reach the classroom before the others joined them.

* * *

After a most trying day, Hermione was grateful to serve a detention alone with Professor Snape that evening. It seemed as if half the school met her newly-discovered status with jeers and distrust, while the other half immediately sought to become her new best friend. The weirdest encounter of the day came when Daphne Greengrass saddled up to her during Potions. The pretty witch, who had never paid Hermione a lick of attention before, prattled on and laughed at everything Hermione said as they paired on an in-class project. Hermione left the class knowing way too much about the Greengrass girl, and with the distinct feeling that she had been pumped for information she did not have.

Sighing, Hermione dropped into a seat in front of Professor Snape's desk. Her head heavy, she was ready to serve her detention.

"Trying day?"

Hermione snapped to at the Professor's question. Waiting to see if a barb or usual quip was to follow, Hermione replied a bit slower than usual. "I've had better."

Snape was quiet for a moment, before he chose to respond. Their Potions professor always seemed as if he was measuring one's aptitude before willingly choosing to disclose information. "If you must know, Kingsley Shacklebolt has been holding extensive floo calls with Professor Dumbledore throughout the day. He is most … concerned as to your well-being."

Hermione exhaled through her nose. While she faced her own scrutiny at Hogwarts, she could only imagine the reporters dogging Kingsley at the Ministry about this latest discovery. She was also saddened that this did nothing but serve as a reminder that while Hermione was here, his wife was not. Still, it felt nice to know she wasn't battling this uproar alone.

Professor Snape continued, "Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy also floo-called the Headmaster." He waited and gauged Hermione's reaction.

Hermione smiled to the desk, trying to picture the conversation. "Did they?" She looked up from the desk to see Professor Snape giving her a quizzical once-over. "I know they are my god-parents." Hermione rolled her eyes at Snape's non-reaction to her admission. "That blasted rag didn't get  _every_  detail wrong."

"And just how much do you know?"

Hermione never thought she would open up to the reclusive professor, but she had that much of a horrible day. "Not much else." She looked to the dungeon roof, hating the accompany pinch that stung her eyes, signaling the approach of tears. This day had been too much as she valiantly sought to stop the onslaught of tears that were sure to fall.

"It you must know," Snape continued evenly. "Lucius promised things I dare not repeat if any harm were to come to you. Professor Dumbledore was taken aback at their combined candor."

Hermione nodded, eyes still skyward. After a few deep breaths, she lowered her gaze back to her professor, feeling the initial onslaught of emotion lessen. "Would it be possible for me to contact my parents, I mean, my adopted parents?"

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would be amendable to such a request."

Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, as she nodded her thanks, unable to verbally respond for the moment. Then a handkerchief appeared in her blurred vision. Professor Snape had moved to stand over her desk and produced the linen for her to take. She gratefully used it to dry her eyes.

"Chin up, Ms. Granger," he drawled quietly as if the words were forcefully pulled from his tongue. "Chin up."

Hermione nodded, a bit more settled in her resolve now.

"Since it is after curfew, I'll have a prefect escort you back to Gryffindor Tower." Hermione raised a brow – surely Professor Snape knew she was a prefect herself and did not require an escort. "I will not be so lenient the next time you assault a student in the presence of teachers. Consider this a favor to your father," he dismissed her, and turned for his desk in a flourish of black robes.

She did not thank him verbally as she gathered her things with a wry smile. _Slytherins_ , she thought.

Waiting in the dungeon hallway was none other than Slytherin's current prince himself. The blond was waiting non-chalantly against the wall, his arms crossed. As she closed the door behind her, he pushed off the wall. She took note of the brief once-over he'd gave her, but all she could think of was that he had been right in everything he said. Those blasted tears started to make a return.

"Don't go and get emotional on me now, Granger." She noted his bite held less sting than it normally did and Hermione took the blond's roundabout about way of concern as reassurance. "I don't fancy getting hit like Edgecomb this morning."

"If you mind your manners, then you've nothing to worry about," Hermione replied with a partial smile. They walked in companionable silence across the dungeon as Hermione hugged her books close to her chest for comfort.

"Father has been in touch with Hogwarts' Governors and his contacts at the  _Prophet_ ," Draco gave easily to her. "I suspect this'll die down soon."

"But not soon enough," Hermione finished for him.

He stuffed his hands inside his trousers. "We  _did_  warn you to get out in front of this and control the narrative."

Hermione bristled as they started towards the main staircase. "Yes, yes. I know. But there's nothing I can do about it now."

"Yes, there is. Use this to your advantage," Draco countered. "Your father carries great favor and goodwill at the Ministry, you know. Don't let the others get to you. I'll keep the Slytherins in line—"

Hermione interrupted him at that. "You'd what?"

Draco hoisted a brow. "Unless you rather be ambushed by Daphne and the like…?"

Knowing she needed all the help she could get, Hermione replied eagerly, "By all means, then. Do you know Daphne spent the entire class asking me what Kingsley was doing this summer? And she kept insinuating how it would be nice for us to visit. Then she went into god-awful detail about her summer house and pet cat."

"Ah yes, Mr. Sputters."

The two teens fell into easy laughter that had Hermione loads feeling better. She instantly wanted nothing more than a warm blanket, a cup of tea, and a good book to shut out the rest of the world. But they were moving closer to their O.W.L.S. and quiet time would practically be non-existent moving forward; and this breaking story assured she would have little peace in the coming days. She sighed as she shared with the fellow teen, "Professor Snape mentioned that Kingsley, and your parents have been floo-calling Dumbledore throughout the day."

"Well, you are a hot topic."

"Bully for me."

They reached Gryffindor's portrait entrance and before she could bid Draco goodnight, he reached out to grab her arm. She froze at the unexpected contact, but did not brush him off. "You know, we didn't go to the  _Prophet_. We swore we wouldn't tell anyone until you told your parents and we keep our promises, Granger," Draco offered, his silver-grey eyes clear of ill-intent.

Hermione smiled as Draco was slow to release her arm. She rubbed the spot he had touched unconsciously and nodded in the affirmative. "I know." She wasn't sure how she did, but she just knew in her gut that the Malfoys hadn't gone to the press.

He threw his head to the door beyond the portrait. "Keep your friends close, Granger," he offered as a cryptic warning. Giving no time for her to respond, he nodded his head and started back down the stairs. "Good night."

Hermione knew that Draco, nor his family, hadn't been the one to spill her secret to the  _Prophet_ , which brought her to who did. And why? She went to bed with a lot to think about.


	10. A Flight and a Fight

Tense times followed Hermione in the weeks to come. She battled endless questions from her roommates and questioning stares from her classmates. Her teachers stumbled on what to call her until she informed them, rather rudely, that her name would remain the same. Meal times were akin to sitting in a fishbowl, so she spent even more time in the library, not that she could find solace there. Then the entire school went on edge with Dumbledore's mysterious disappearance and Umbridge's ascension to the position of Headmaster. But there still were bright spots to be found in the midst of chaos. Neville had successfully produced a  _Patronus_  charm and was making in-roads with a boy he fancied in Ravenclaw.

However, most of the school still whispered behind her back about her newly-found lineage. It was evident even during their DA meetings. While Hermione spent most of her time with Harry teaching various offensive and defensive charms, she felt the weight of their collective stares as she moved from student to student. Her fellow members itched to ask her about her blood status, but after the hoopla with Marietta, none sought a repeat performance of the Great Hall incident. Cho and Marietta had been unsurprisingly absent from their meetings since.

Rita Skeeter did not help matters either. Weekly features on Hermione's love life clogged the front pages. If one believed the  _Prophet_ , she was arranged to be married to three students from Hogwwarts, one from Durmstrang, and her father constantly vowed vengeance on the Muggles who had kidnapped and brainwashed her.

"You okay?" Ginny approached Hermione as she lingered behind a particularly difficult meeting with Dumbledore's Army.

Hermione sighed and eventually nodded. "I guess I have to be, right?"

Ginny offered a grin. "You know this place. Give it a few and the gossip mills will move on to the next big thing."

"Except this is not some source of entertainment," Hermione complained. "It's my life. One I didn't choose by the way."

Ginny nodded, her lips pursed into a frown that rivaled her mother's. "Same deal with Harry, you know. But we'll be here for you, just like we are for him. My mum's been writing – she made me promise to ask 'how you're doing and to continue to treat you as before'." The red-head laughed as she repeated the phrasing verbatim. "As if that would change? She's also invited you over to the Burrow this summer."

Hermione smiled, finally deciding to leave the Room of Requirement. As she walked with Ginny, she speculated, "A bit of normalcy would be appreciated. I'm just worried about my parents. I always had a subscription of the  _Prophet_  sent to my house. They read the paper the day it came…" She shook her head. "It's just not how I wanted them to find out. Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore allowed me to floo-call them from his office."

"How did they take it?" Ginny wondered.

Thinking back to the day, Hermione replied, "They were surprised, of course. But they mainly wanted to know how I was doing with everything. I told them I was okay. There's no need to worry them any further with trivial school matters. But I'll suspect we'll be able to speak more when school dismisses. And thanks for the offer to visit, Gin. Maybe I can stop by with Kingsley sometime."

"Sure thing. Take care, Hermione. Or should I say, 'Emmeline'?" The red-head laughed as the two parted ways; Ginny for the pitch and Hermione for the library.

The weeks lengthened into months, and as Ginny predicted, a new normal settled over the castle as students prepared for upcoming exams, graduation, and general end-of-the-year activities. Soon it became old news that she was a pureblood with the Malfoys as god-parents, and though most of their friends weren't ready to forgive and forget old grudges, no one jumped at the sight of Hermione Granger (she refused to change her name) and Draco Malfoy occasionally talking.

One unusually warm day in May found Draco walking with extra swagger towards her favorite place to study outside of the library: a grassy patch just a stone's throw from the shores of the Great Lake. Draco held his sweater vest in one hand; his oxford shirt and tie was loosened around the collar. Her throat grew dry as the teen walked closer. She blamed the breeze for shuffling his platinum locks just so. Huffing curls out of her face, Hermione returned to her book, pretending to read and ignored his overconfident stroll.

He did not announce himself as he sat next to her in plain sight of other students.

Hermione was pleased to note that Draco had also kept his word to a tee. Not one Slytherin teased nor harassed her about her newly-found identity. In fact, most the ambitious snakes went out of their way to either be kind or neutral to her. She chalked it up to Kingsley's standing in the Ministry and that he was a former snake himself.

There were whispers how he was to become Minister years ago, but did not accept the position due his grief regarding the double loss of his wife and daughter. Now with his newly-found daughter in the all the papers, the flames of politics were fanned even more. According to the  _Prophet_ , Fudge was doing everything he could to convey that the Ministry, under his guidance, was strong as he tried to undermine a prospective Shacklebolt campaign. Hermione found it intriguing, but ultimately thought it all rubbish. Nevertheless, she made sure to read the articles to stay on top of comings and goings. Draco had been instrumental in helping her identify names she did not know.

Suddenly, she caught a peculiar smell on the wind. Lifting her head from her book, she traced the odor to the blond sitting beside her.

"You reek …" Hermione announced suddenly as she leaned over to sniff his shoulder. "Draco!" she admonished, as she finally placed the distinctive scent. Pavarti and Lavender oftentimes came back to their dorm sporting the same  _eau de parfum_.

Draco wiggled his brows suggestively to which she frowned. "O.W.L.s are starting soon and a man has to relieve stress somehow. And Pansy has always been willing."

"Ugh, that's disgusting," Hermione shook her head and looked away, a flare of something unfamiliar sharply hit her gut. Unsuccessfully, she tried to shake the mental image of Pansy and Draco engaged in extracurricular activities. Switching topics, "By the way thank you for earlier, after lunch." She referred to the incident involving Marietta and her gang.

The red-headed Ravenclaw must've been mightily embarrassed after being publicly humiliated earlier that winter, for she was often trying to catch Hermione alone for 'payback'. Hermione had been leaving the library earlier that day when Marrieta and her henchwomen advanced upon her; though Hermione would have taken the witches on her own, it was the sight of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle siding next to her in defense that had sent the witches scurrying.

Draco smirked as he looked out at the lake's surface. "You get one free pass, Granger. Then you're on your own."

"Liar," she called him on it, as she marked something on a piece of parchment. She didn't have to look at the blond to know that he was lying.

"You could thank me in other ways, you know."

Hermione made a face to her book as the tips of her ears heated. She slid narrow eyes from the text to him. "Why on Earth would I do that?"

He greeted her with a wicked grin. "Get your mind out of the gutter. I know you've heard the rumors, but I wasn't propositioning a sexual favor."

Eyes wide, Hermione flushed. "I wasn't thinking about that." Only she had been. His sudden arrival and distinctive smell, mental images about him and Pansy ardently making out, and other thoughts made her blush as she stuttered to regain course. "R-right." She pushed a curl behind her ear and sat up straighter. "Then what were you thinking about?"

Draco regarded her for a moment, deep in thought before he offered, "The semi-final between Slytherin and Ravenclaw is this Saturday. If we win," he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Wear our colors in the final."

Scandalized, Hermione scoffed, "But Gryffinor's playing in the final! I couldn't possibly."

"Half your family is in Slytherin," he countered arrogantly. "And you said yourself the Hat would have put you there if you hadn't been spirited away by Muggles. What, are you scared?"

If there was one thing Hermione Granger wasn't, it was scared. She twisted her lips as she considered the ramifications of such an arrangement. "And  _how_  exactly is this payment for your generosity?"

He stuck his tongue in his cheek as he regarded her. "I always wanted to see you in the green and silver," he kicked his legs out as he leaned back on his hands. "Consider it a  _personal_  favor." He enunciated the word, no doubt looking to cause her to blush in embarrassment. She would never live it down from Ron and the others. Neville was secretly dating a Ravenclaw boy, so he would in all likelihood he would be sporting another team's colors anyway, but still...

She rolled her eyes as if it weren't big deal, though she had an inkling it would be. "Fine. It's just a silly game."

"Good," he stood then, leaving her to her work. He must've known she wouldn't be pleasant company as she sought to finish her essay. "See you this Saturday."

As the day in question arrived, she would have rather spend the time preparing for O.W.L.s but Ginny needed someone to go to the game with so she could study the opponent. Since Harry was no longer on the team, Hermione agreed. Neville, unsurprisingly, offered to go too, though Hermione suspected he had other reasons.

So, the three settled amongst the eagle's nest as the last semi-final of the year commenced. Ginny vigorously took notes, pointing out maneuvers Hermione knew nothing about, while Neville ditched the girls for his date elsewhere in the stands. That left Hermione alone to wince at every crash, or close call that occurred meters above her head.

It was easy to spot Draco flying about the pitch seeking the golden snitch. She had to admit, he flew masterfully. Suddenly, she was whisked back to New Year's when he had skillfully up-ended her broom; her heart begin to increase in tempo.

But suddenly two of Ravenclaws' beaters knocked into Slytherin's seeker and all three plummeted to the ground. Hermione shot out of her seat, racked with alarm, and waited for the sickening impact when solid earth met soft flesh. But a single broom emerged from the falling pile of limbs, and the entire eagle's nest groaned as Draco emerged victorious, snitch in hand. Hermione sat down in her seat, relieved yet disappointed, as the Slytherin side of the stadium erupted into cheers. Draco circled the pitch in a victory lap, and stopped just over her head as he held up the snitch triumphantly.

Their eyes met and she sarcastically clapped and inclined her head in acknowledgement, biting back a smile.

Two days later, she received a package by owl during breakfast. As she opened the wrapping to reveal a rather-worn looking green and silver scarf, Ron and Ginny stormed off, while Harry sat there looking betrayed. Turning around on the bench, she saw Draco's smile lift a bit higher at the corner. He dipped his head in acknowledgement as she turned, trying and failing to explain the situation to her friends.

The following week, she was the only lion sporting two scarves, one green and silver tucked neatly under her trusty gold and red. She had more than a few stares to fend off as sought not to die from heat exhaustion.

* * *

" _He has Padfoot in the place where it's hidden."_

It's funny how a simple phrase set in motion an extraordinary course of events that had Hermione leading Umbridge through the Forbidden Forest to the agitated centaurs and part of Dumbledore's Army rushing to the Department of Mysteries to rescue a captured Sirius. In the time it took to travel from Hogwarts to London, practice within the safe Room of Requirement became a tangible matter of life and death.

Harry had no sooner grabbed the prophecy, after finding that Sirius had  _not_  been taken, before they were surrounded by Death Eaters masked in ivory and bone. Hermione jumped as they Apparated in pairs around the teenagers. Their opponents fired successive jets of light that shattered wave after wave of glass spheres containing other prophecies. Bits of glass fell into her curls as Hermione and the others fired back and blocked the aggressive onslaught; Dumbledore's Army tried to fight back, but they were woefully outmatched by older, more experienced wizards. Harry backed their group towards the door that led to the outside hallway, before turning and urging them to run.

Whether by design or not, they split up as they reached the outside corridor, a dark tunnel that held no torches. Hermione waited with bated breath for her eyes to slowly adjust to the dark. Every second she could not see was a second that left her defenseless as she gripped her wand with slippery hands. Her ears and nose became her best defense as other senses overcompensated for the reduced visibility.

Rubber soles of worn trainers ran swiftly ahead.

A thick layer of ozone indicated she was surrounded dark magic.

A heartbeat that beat wildly out of control.

Then, a flash of red hair whizzed in her peripheral. She couldn't tell if it were Ron or Ginny being chased by a hooded shadow a few meters ahead as she steadied her wand. She prayed she wouldn't hit her friends as she gave a verbal warning.

"Ron! Look out!" Hermione screamed as she threw a hex at the masked-assailant. Her target quickly Apparated before the spell could hit them. But unbeknownst to her, they had Apparated to her blind spot.

The Death Eater lifted his wand to curse her from behind. Then an explosion of magic collided on her left, enough to warm the left side of her body. The collision was bright, all-consuming yet brief. When it subsided, the Death Eater who tried to curse her lay on the ground, as her savior strode to her purposely. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the dark as the Death Eater waved a wand in front of their ivory mask to reveal… her god-father, Lucius Malfoy.

Breath caught in her throat as her heart froze and plummeted like stone. Riveted to the spot, she tried to reconcile the relaxed wizard at New Years with the man before her now. He dressed like death itself and sneered as he approached. She lifted her wand to eye-level.

"You should not be here," Lucius hissed in an exasperated whisper, not fearing the wand currently pointed to his chest.

Hermione's wand did not waver, though disappointment framed her face. "And yet you are." She was grateful Lucius had saved her from an unknown curse that could have caused undue injury, but she still shook her head at her god-father. "Why?" She genuinely wanted to know.

Lucius lowered his wand and ignored her question. He spoke quickly in a hushed tone, as if he were expecting something, or someone. "There is not much time, Ms. Granger. When this is over, get Narcissa and Draco to Crestmoor. Tell her to keep it secret, keep it safe. Do you understand?"

Ahead, her friends yelled for help as the cracks of Apparition signaled the arrival of others; possibly more Death Eaters, possibly back-up, she could not tell. Hermione's hand trembled as she lowered her wand. Curiosity drove her to seek more information, but time was woefully short. She was disgusted with the man her father called a friend, but she nodded indicating she would do as he said.

"Farewell, Ms. Granger. I apologize our brief time together has come to a close." He backed away, the ivory mask reappearing on his face. "If you're wise, you'd leave now."

"I'm sorry, too," she spoke beneath her breath. Raising her wand again, she stunned the man as he retreated. "I can't let you hurt any more of my friends."

Turning about, she bound the Death Eater Lucius had halted mid-spell and leaped over her fallen god-father to join her friends. She would only make it a few paces before she came across Luna's pale body, and the Death Eater beside her. Rushing to her knees and temporarily forgetting her magic, Hermione placed two fingers to the witch's neck. She closed her eyes in fervent prayer as a miniscule heartbeat pushed against her hand. Whipping out a galleon she had charmed with a  _Portus_  spell, she placed the portkey on the witch and sent her to St. Mungo's hoping it was not too late. Palpitations gripped her chest from varying level of emotions that racked her and made her senses useless.

Up ahead, Harry was firing at someone. She stood to her feet ready to help him give chase when a pinch hit between her shoulder blades. With a gasp, her world went black.

Fortunately she was revived what seemed like instantaneously, meaning she had not been killed, but it took several seconds to gather her bearings. A foreign wand pushed savagely into her neck and she could see Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ginny held by Death Eaters across a vast room centered by a single stone archway.

"Why, hello 'ittle baby," a husky vibrato whispered into her ear. Sudden cackling laughter had Hermione pulling away sharply. "Drop your wands!" Escaped Death Eater Bellatrix LeStrange shouted to the room.

Hermione and her friends were caught. Each was held captive by a Death Eater, their wands trained squarely on the teenagers about the room. Dumbledore's Army had no choice and clangs reverberated off the wall as pieces of wood met stone.

The mad witch turned to Hermione. "Now let's play a 'ittle game." She screwed the wand tighter into the soft flesh of Hermione's throat, causing her to whimper. "I don't believe we finished where we left off…"

"Let her go, Bellatrix!" came a shout from above.

Finally,  _finally_  the Order of the Phoenix had arrived. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Tonks, Emmeline Vance and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in a whirl of Apparition; both Hermione and Bellatrix were knocked to the ground by the force of their arrival.

And the battle raged on.

A variety of colored lights illuminated their shadows. Ordinarily, it would have been beautiful to behold, but to a wandless Hermione it was a deadly sight. She crawled on her knees to where she'd last seen her wand. She would be no good without one in hand and valiantly searched for the piece of wood as the life of her friends and father hung in the balance.

Bellatrix LeStrange, on the other hand, quickly learned that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the wrong wizard provoke. The Auror was already strong, but his anger made him ferocious. Rather than attack her with magic as they rolled away, the wizard sought her neck with his bare hands as he tried to physically overpower the escaped convict.

Grabbing her wand, Bellatrix quickly Apparated before Kingsley could effectively pin her to the ground. She cackled as she appeared a few meters from him and fired her strongest  _Crucio_. "Are you trying to kill me?" she feigned faux-shock as she fired curse after curse at him. She interrupted her barrage of spell-fire to turn and fire a curse at the crawling Hermione a few meters away.

The younger witch rolled out the way as the curse blackened the stone, but was now further separated from her wand.

Kingsley replied ominously as he readied his dueling stance, "The thought struck my mind."

And the two squared off. Seeking shelter lest she was struck by a wayward spell, Hermione watched the powerful way Kingsley commanded magic as he spun here and there. He was effectively untouched by the mad witch, and steadily advanced towards her wordlessly conjuring spells even Hermione did not recognize. Inspired to learn those spells and his dueling techniques, Hermione proudly watched her father expertly duel. He never wavered and nor blinked; his focus was squarely on the witch who had threatened his daughter.

But Bellatrix would never duel fairly. She Apparated across the room, her laughter trailing behind her like a twisted wail. She appeared near Moody and another Death Eater. "Daddy come to protect his baby? So sad you weren't there the night it was needed…" Bellatrix cursed Tonks who tried to approach from her side. "But I'm sure Lucius has told you  _all_  about that."

Hermione swiftly swung her gaze from Bellatrix to her father. Kingsley's footing slipped and wide eyes met his daughter's across room.

Bellatrix watched the confusion play out between father and daughter. "No?" she laughed. "Ever the coward … Luci _us_?" she sing-song-ed, seeking the Death Eater in question, but none replied. "Come out and tell your darling god-daughter the truth. Tell them who killed Marie Shacklebolt."

"NO!" Kinglsey's shout bellowed across the galley, as he fired the  _Avada_  at Bellatrix. But she disappeared in a cloud of black before appearing right in front of Hermione.

"Lucius and Antonin had a job, you see," she raised her wand to Hermione's nose, continuing where she'd left off.

Hermione's vision tunneled to Bellatrix's face, completely ignoring the wand. She studied the striking woman's features right down to the beauty mark beside her nose.

Bellatrix laughed, her eyes glittering with insanity. "Poor baby. Have I made you mad?"

"Bellatrix, let's go!" A voice called. The battle had turned. Sirius had one Death Eater bound and Remus had taken down another beside him. There were more Phoenixes than Death Eaters as the teens had found their wands and joined their fellow Order members in battle.

Bellatrix snarled to the witch beneath her wand, before pulling it away and Apparating to the door. She followed the others out of the Death Room.

Harry called for them to give chase. Led by Sirius, the others quickly followed suit. Stunned that she'd come close to death twice that night, Hermione stood to tired feet as Kingsley joined her. Father and daughter brought up the rear and joined the rest of the Order in the main lobby as Voldemort attempted to possess Harry's body. Hermione physically became ill as she watched her friend valiantly struggle against the invasion. But Harry was strong enough to beat him back and with the arrival of Dumbledore, Voldemort finally stepped out of the shadows.

The rest unfolded in a spectacular show of strength, will, and magic.

At its conclusion, Dumbledore battled Voldemort into temporary defeat, Sirius and Harry embraced in a fierce hug, as the rest sought help for the injured. Aurors rushed forward to restrain the Death Eaters left behind. Bellatrix LeStrange was not one of them.

Kingsley ordered his men into tactical formation as they surveyed the tattered halls of the Ministry for hidden followers of Voldemort. But it was he who found the masked man lying on the ground injured, his flowing pale hair tinged with blood.

Dropping to one knee so he could physically remove the mask, Kingsley observed the slack face of one Lucius Malfoy. Kingsley wordlessly revived the unconscious wizard. The man came to with a gasp as he took in his surroundings from the floor. He saw the Auror and deflated at the sight. The battle was over, but Kingsley was not finished, not by a long-shot.

Grey eyes met chocolate brown ones, as neither moved to speak first.

Kingsley stood, his wand limp in his hand. "Is it true?" he whispered, unable to speak the rest of the question.

"No," Lucius rushed out quickly. "I could never." Though he was injured, he sounded truly horrified at the thought. Lucius turned away; he could no longer bear to look at Kingsley. "Though that does not absolve me entirely." He waited for his friend and former Housemate to respond.

"You were there," Kingsley accused, as anger simmered beneath the surface.

Lucius was quiet for a heartbeat, then softly answered, "I was there."

Kingsley turned away from him then. He bit his lip in effort not to yell out in rage, or worse,  _Avada_  the wizard as he lay on the floor. Cold sweat beaded at his temple - he could do it and end the man now.

"And you never thought once to tell me?!" he shouted as he gripped his wand. Kingsley turned to face man. "After all these  **years**?"

Wizards from the DMLE approached and lifted Lucius roughly from the ground, taking little note of his injury. Lucius held his head as high as he could, garbed in his Death Eater robes, but he had one last thing to stay. He tipped his head forward. "The memories," he offered. "Take them." His once-proud voice broke.

Kingsley reared away in disgust. He had no desire to see the night his wife was killed, but Lucius begged. "Please, you have to see. I did everything in my power to protect her, to protect both of them! You need to know the truth."

"Do not think because you have suffered with guilt, that I will absolve you of your sins, Lucius." Kingsley stepped back and lifted his hands in surrender, a sign that his friend's condemnation was one of his own making. "This is out of my hands."

"Please,  _Kingsley_! Take them," Lucius begged.

Frowning, Kinsley took a handkerchief out of his inner jacket pocket and transfigured the cloth into a vial. He halted the men who held the Malfoy Lord by the arms and placed his wand to the Lucius' temple. "This doesn't change a thing," he whispered for the man's ears only.

"I have lived with all of my demons for nearly two decades," Lucius replied as Kingsley twisted his wand ready to pull the memories forward. "This is not the way I wanted you to find out, but I am at peace that you will know the truth. All of it," he confessed, ready to accept his condemnation.

Kingsley pulled luminescent stands from Lucius' temple and deposited them in the vial, before stoppering it. "Take him away," he ordered to the Aurors with a nod. He watched as Lucius was further bound, stripped of his personal possessions, and led away. The two men did not break eye contact until Lucius was pushed around the corner.

Back in the lobby of the Ministry, Minister Fudge was immediately surrounded by reporters from the  _Prophet_ , and other outlets; flashbulbs clicked in rapid succession, eager to capture the official response to the epic battle between Hogwarts' Headmaster, finally driven out of hiding, and the now-confirmed-to-have-returned Voldemort.

While Harry and Dumbledore fielded reporters, Kingsley located Hermione, pocketing a small jar. "What is that?" he indicated to the jar she stuffed into dusty jeans.

"Rare beetle. I need its wings for a potion," she answered quickly, her voice stern. She allowed Kingsley to pull her to the side. Once sufficiently removed from the clamoring throng, he held her face in his hands, similar to when they first met.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, searching her face for the truth.

The adrenaline had waned enough for Hermione to speak, though her voice wobbled. "Yes, I'm fine." In truth, Kingsley knew she had to be processing all that had occurred just now. He knew he was.

Kingsley frowned as he took in the small cut on her cheek. "I know better than to ask why you came -"

"He saved me," Hermione interrupted his attempt to lecture on the dangers of rushing in an unknown situation. "Lucius," she clarified.

His hand stiffened on her soft cheek as he thought of the  _friend_ who had almost cost him his daughter. But Hermione lifted a gentle hand to the one that had stilled on her cheek. "Earlier, there was a Death Eater … it was close, but Lucius saved me."

"If what Bellatrix said is true, then it is not the first time he has," Kingsley spat, feeling the vial of memories weigh heavy in his jacket pocket. He vowed to review them as soon as he could, no matter the pain they might bring. He wavered on whether to share them with the young woman before him. Sighing, he continued, "I found him unconscious just before the lifts. He will be brought to Azkaban. I don't know if there will be a trial."

Hermione pulled on Kingsley's hands then, her face dropping into one of worry. She led him further away from the pool of reporters and the others. "We have to hurry then. Lucius said we had to get to Mrs. Malfoy and Draco." She pulled Kingsley toward the Apparition point beyond the Ministry lobby, but he slowed their advance.

"What did he say? Why the hurry?"

"Lucius said we must get Mrs. Malfoy and Draco to Crestmoor. I'm pretty sure it's under a  _Fidelius_  Charm." She pleaded with her eyes. "Voldemort has escaped without the prophecy, and I've no doubt he will move to punish the Malfoys. We have to hurry; this may be our only chance."

But Kingsley was full of anger and hurt. "Maybe we should let him," he whispered cruelly as Hermione paused beside him in shock. "I lost your mother. I nearly lost you. And the Malfoys have been involved in this mess since the beginning."

Hermione shook her head in disagreement. "No,  _Lucius_  has been involved," she explained. "I know you can't possibly want harm to come to Draco and Mrs. Malfoy, no matter Lucius' sins. It's because of them that we've found each other again."

She looked so much like her mother then, stubbornly brilliant in her reasoning and logic. He closed his eyes for strength before opening them with renewed vigor. "Alright, quickly then. We can move them while we still have the night."

The historic battle was only minutes old as father and daughter Apparated to the Manor, ready to spirit away the remaining Malfoys to safety.


	11. Crestmoor & Marseille

Kingsley had been for awake for well over twenty-four hours but adrenaline, anger, and a combination of disgust and friendship kept him going. Hermione and Kingsley arrived to the Manor in short order, since Draco was safe at Hogwarts. Upon a harried arrival, Hermione recounted to a confused Narcissa Lucius' instructions. If she was upset that her husband had been arrested, the witch did not show it. In quick succession, Narcissa snapped orders to her house elf, Mipsy. It frustrated Hermione, but she granted Narcissa leeway and practiced patience. Her god-mother was being forced to flee her home under the threat of a madman. House elf rights could wait.

They had precious minutes to pack their things and transfer them to the family's country cottage. Thank Merlin for magic as their items were minimized and quickly stowed away for transport.

It was a calm June night, but rather than fly, they Apparated to the one-turreted cottage that sat on an outcrop of hills. The cottage was outfitted with old stone barriers and surrounded by fields of lush green grass on all sides.

By time Hermione, Kingsley, and Narcissa opened the front door to the wood-paneled home, elves busied about unpacking their Mistress' things. Kingsley brought up the rear, stalking about the premises as if searching for something.

"Narcissa, I require a pensieve," he cut-in, usually short.

Only dressed in bedrobe and a light cloak, Narcissa used her wand to fan the flames of the lone fireplace that sat in the middle of the comfortable living room. The house was fully furnished, but compared to the Manor, was considerably less grand in scale.

Narcissa pursed her lips as she thought through the request. "I'll have to send one of the elves back to the Manor. Lucius has one in his study."

Kingsley nodded. "Please see that you do." His entire manner was gruff and off, as he paced about the room, his wand tapping against his thigh; he was clearly agitated.

Hermione blamed it on the aftermath of battle.

Narcissa saw more to it, though she did not comment.

Seeking to change the subject, Hermione asked, "Is this house under a  _Fidelius_  charm?"

Narcissa turned from Kingsley to her god-daughter. "Yes, it was a Muggle property actually. We acquired it after Lucius and I married and outfitted it with wards of our own design. We both agreed we needed a place that was not family property and thus, unknown to the Ministry, should we ever need to escape."

Kingsley snorted. "And we now know why."

Narcissa continued, shooting Kingsley a curious glance, "As it stands, I am its secret keeper and the only people who know about its existence besides Lucius and Draco, and now yourselves, is Severus."

Mipsy appeared with a pensieve in tow.

"Finally," Kingsley huffed as he took the object from the elf.

"Please tell me what else happened at the Ministry?" Narcissa asked to his back as he set to work. "You show up unannounced, in the middle of the night, saying Lucius said we were to flee, but give me nothing further. What is going on?"

Kingsley shook his head, agitated. "Not now, Narcissa."

"Please, my husband has been arrested—"

"And my wife was murdered!" he shouted, suddenly unable to hold it in any longer. The room shook from the release of power as Kingsley sought to rein in his magic. Hermione bit her lip, heartbroken, to watch the man suffer.

Kingsley sighed and apologized for the outburst. Wearily, he admitted, "Lucius gave me his memories of that night before he was taken away. It's just… it's been a rough night, Narcissa," he finished quietly as he ran his wand over the runes of the pensieve, activating its magic.

Hermione continued for her father where he could not, "Bellatrix said Lucius was there the night Marie was murdered."

Narcissa's eyes went wide. "Bellatrix was at the Ministry tonight?"

Kingsley nodded. "She threatened Emmeline," he slipped and called her Hermione by her birth name. Normally, he made an effort to call her by the name of her choosing. To slip now showed the extent of his exhaustion. "Later, Lucius said he wasn't the one to do it, but he gave me his memories anyway." Kingsley peered at Narcissa. "Narcissa, did you know about this?"

Glancing between Hermione and Kingsley, Narcissa replied after a moment's hesitation, "I had suspected. Lucius would never speak about that night, or much else whenever he left to that madman's bidding. But I do know when he returned home that evening, that is when the drinking began. I don't think he's ever forgiven himself for it, whatever part he played. I did not dare to broach the subject."

Kingsley pinched his nose and shut his eyes as Hermione moved to sit on the couch. She was suddenly weary from standing, running, and fighting. Drained, she reclined on the couch.

Kingsley moved closer to Narcissa, his voice lowered for the sake of his daughter resting nearby. "And you never told me?"

She replied in equally hushed tones, "What good would it do to ruin a friendship over a suspicion? And Lucius is my husband. Despite his faults, I love him and will protect him." Narcissa looked to Hermione who had started to doze on the couch. "She has been through too much this evening, surely you cannot mean to do this now?" She levitated a blanket towards the dozing teen.

Kingsley vowed quietly as he poured the memories into the pensieve, "I do not ever intend on her seeing this." He looked to Narcissa for a moment. "Do wish to see?"

Narcissa warred with the indecision, before nodding. "If only so you won't be alone."

With that, the two entered the pensieve, venturing sixteen years into the past.

_They were in the Muggle world. Kingsley recognized the town square in the middle of Cambridge, even though it was in the middle of the night._

_"We'll break off into pairs," Bellatrix spoke to the group of Death Eaters gathered about. "I'll take the Longbottoms, Dolohov and Lucius will take the Shacklebolts."_

" _The Auror?" Lucius repeated, as if he had heard incorrectly._

_Bellatrix smiled toothily. "Problem, Lucius? Our Dark Lord has requested this of you. Do you have a problem with his request?"_

" _No," he shook his head. "Of course not." Lucius clipped to the man beside him as he pocketed his wand, "Antonin, let's go."_

_The scene shifted as Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Doholov Apparated into a dark alley. Kingsley sickeningly recognized it as one close to his family home._

_As they lay in the wait in the alley way, a lone figure appeared at the other end. As the figure approached, they could make out blond curls under the cloak of her hood._

_The line of sight their's, Antonin accio'ed the witch's wand with a flourish, leaving her defenseless. She gasped at the move as Lucius and Antonin revealed themselves. Marie could not identify them behind their ivory masks._

" _Well, well what do we have here?" Antonin teased to the obviously terrified witch. "Travelling by your lonesome, dove?"_

_Marie backed away as Antonin Apparated directly behind her, effectively trapping her within the alley. "P-Please. Let me go!" She held the infant, his god-daughter, close to her chest. Emmeline started to wail. "I promise not to tell anyone."_

_Antonin pulled the hood of her cloak from her head, spilling her hair free and whispered into ear, "What would you give us in exchange for your silence?"_

_Lucius was offended, but had not yet moved to take part on this attack. "Antonin, she is a pureblood! Not some trifle thing to play with."_

_Antonin laughed as he responded, "She is pretty and scared. Again, what would you give us to let you go?" he posed the question to the frightened witch._

_Marie looked around, as if searching for someone to come to her aid. But no one was coming. "Anything, just please... let me and my daughter live. We have taken no sides in this war," she begged as Emmeline cried louder._

_Swallowing thickly, Lucius sought to re-direct, "Antonin, I fear we must leave. The infant's cries will lead someone to us."_

" _Then shut the infant up, Lucius!" Antonin snarled, as he pushed a stunned Marie into the wall, his hands furiously pulling at her cloak and clothes._

_Marie gasped as she fell against the wall in shock, the hurt clear in her eyes. She held her infant tightly to her. "Lucius?!"_

_Antonin chuckled, amused. "Oh-ho. Looks like someone has recognized you, Lucius. We can't let her get away now. Now come here, pet."_

_But Marie was angry. Turning so she held her infant in one hand, she physically scratched and fought the Death Eater. Though she had no wand, she fought for her and her daughter's life._

_No longer frozen by inaction, Lucius rushed forward and came to her rescue. He pulled the wizard off of her, refusing to let his partner brutalize her any longer. "Enough!" he snarled to Antonin. "Run, Marie," Lucius said behind his mask._

" _You bloody traitor, wait until I tell the Dark Lord!"_

_The two men fought, and Marie covered the baby with her body as he tried to scoot around the men in the tight alleyway._

_Lucius ducked and blocked a barrage of spells while Antonin screamed murder. Lucius narrowly missed an Avada, before the world tipped to black._

_The memory began again as Lucius awoke. They were back at the rendezvous point, away from the alley. He lifted his mask to vomit on the ground, physically ill at the sight of the Dark Mark over the alleyway they had just left._

_Lucius was lifted from the ground by an angry Antonin. He whispered to the wizard, "What have you done? Where are they?"_

_Antonin smiled menacingly, "I took care of them both. You filthy blood-!"_

_Lucius did not give the man time to finish before he jammed his wand into the man's temple and spoke the incantation, "Obliviate!"_

_He fell to the ground with Antonin. He barely had time to viciously wipe tears from his eyes as Bellatrix's laughter preceded her arrival._

" _All done, here?" She skipped merrily as she took in the Dark Mark, signaling victory, over the alleyway down the street._

_Lucius glared at Antonin, daring the man to speak an ill word. But dumbfounded and with no memory of the event, Antonin dipped his head in the positive. "All done here."_

_Lucius lingered behind the group of Death Eaters as they disApparated, one by one. But there was no time to go back as Muggle sirens sounded in the distance. There would be no reason to return to the scene now – they were both gone. Instead, he followed Bellatrix, cloaked in shame._

* * *

Hermione awoke to summer birds noisily calling to each other; the sun was mid-way through the sky outside. She shifted on the bed she had unintentionally borrowed and closed her eyes as a calming scent entered her nose. Not recalling when she exactly fell asleep, she threw the covers off her and glanced about the room she had taken for the night. The room was outfitted in shades of navy and gray and toy Quiddich figures sat on a dresser across from her. Gingerly, she slid off the bed (it was perched higher than she was accustomed to) and rolled her neck. Normally she would have taken the time to properly shower and change, but raised voices downstairs indicated something was important was being discussed.

Details of the eventful night came rushing back as she stepped into the hall and tip-toed across the creaky wooden floors. Voices carried through the floor boards.

"The Ministry is in disarray, he is angry, this could present the perfect opportunity." Hermione paused as she recognized her Potions professor's signature drawl. What was Snape doing here? What was the perfect opportunity?

"He is too young, Severus." Narcissa sounded exhausted yet resolute.

"I was nearly his age…" Snape countered.

"And Dumbledore was a fool to allow you to do it!" Kingsley replied. Just what were they discussing?

"I assure you Dumbledore did not  _allow_  me to do anything. I made the choice willingly. All I am saying is present him the facts and allow him to do the same. He is skilled in Occlumency, and would be protected, I can assure you. Should something happen to me, you would be glad for the additional tool in your arsenal," Snape sarcastically clipped.

"I will not willingly sacrifice my son. Not when my husband has been just carted off to Azkaban," Narcissa snapped.

The hushed voices of the three adults grew louder as Hermione approached the stairs. As she suspected, her father, Narcissa, and Severus Snape were huddled over a kitchen island and effectively ended the conversation as she rounded the corner.

Knowing they wouldn't answer her, she asked the question anyway with a raised brow. "Why would you willingly sacrifice Draco?"

Narcissa threw Snape a withering glance before turning to her god-daughter. She smiled, but it did not reach the sadness in her eyes. "It seems as if we are being recruited to join the Order," she replied, though Hermione gathered that was not the complete truth.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What's happened?"

Kingsley sighed and pushed the morning  _Prophet_  across the island to her. Walking up to the counter, she read the bold headline: " _Fudge ousted with a vote of no-confidence; Several department heads leave in his wake."_

"After the battle last night," Kingsley explained, "The Wizengamot met, sans Umbridge, and gave a vote of no-confidence in Fudge. They believe him unable to handle Voldemort's return."

Hermione unfolded the paper, quickly scanning the rest of the article. "Then who will be named Minister?" she wondered aloud, "Did he have a Deputy?"

Severus glanced at Kingsley meaningfully before he replied, "No. Many in his office, including several department heads left with him. The Wizengamot will meet this afternoon to vote in a new Minister for Magic. Dumbledore and your father will be there."

Hermione set down the paper as she hopped on a stool. "Right, well it's certainly been a hectic twenty-four hours."

The three shared an indiscernible look as Kingsley approached his daughter, a sudden weight in his eyes. "Hermione, you should know. There are several who may offer my name for consideration."

Beyond her, Narcissa nodded in obvious agreement, as Hermione rapidly thought through the numerous ramifications of this development. "But we were supposed to spend time together this summer? And if this happens…"

"Then that time will be cut short and you both will be thrust into the political spotlight," Snape finished for her.

Kingsley continued, "I know that school has kept us from not spending as much time as we would like together, and this effectively throws a wrench in things, but we can still have that time together. I still want to go with you to meet your parents. But before I leave for the vote this afternoon, I wanted to hear from you. You do have a say in this."

Hermione was silent for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. "We can't let the Ministry fall into the wrong person's hands," she weighed the options. "If Voldemort were to get a man inside the Ministry, then the Order will be that more disadvantaged." Shoulders squared, she pressed on, "If there is no one else, then it should be you."

"Sweetheart, are you sure?" Kingsley pressed, though internally pleased with her logic. "Moving our family into such a spotlight will come with unintended consequences. Some I will try to protect you from, but it will be difficult, especially with a coming war."

"The penalty for not participating in government is that you end up governed by your inferiors," Hermione summarized Plato and nodded her acquiescence. She wanted her father to do good for the Ministry, for their world, just like she did, and she found herself agreeing. "You should take the position, if it is offered."

"Alright, with your blessing, I will." He gave Hermione a hug. "Now, there is a matter of next steps."

Snape picked up from there. "Draco and the other students are set to be dismissed tomorrow. Ms. Granger, I assume you are not returning with me for the remainder of the school year?"

"Seeing how it is only for one day, I suppose I don't see a reason. I've finished my O.W.L.s," Hermione replied. "Is that alright?"

"I am not Headmaster nor your head of house, do not look at me as if I care," Snape cooly replied. "I will Apparate Draco here once the students have dismissed. I'll have the elves send your things, here, I presume?" Hermione nodded to which Snape dismissed himself.

Once he left, Kingsley turned to Hermione. "After the meeting, we can leave from here to meet your parents. Does that sound alright?"

Hermione nodded.

"Great, stay here and rest. I'll need to meet Dumbledore before we head to the Ministry. And so you know, everyone from last night is alright. Luna is resting well at St. Mungo's, Tonks should be released soon. And your friends have returned to Grimmauld to spend time with Sirius and the others."

"That's good to hear." Relief spread through Hermione. "I'll write them later today."

Kingsley left shortly thereafter and Hermione and Narcissa busied themselves about Crestmoor. Narcissa remained quiet throughout the day; though Hermione did not know the witch well, it seemed unusual behavior. But Hermione didn't know how to broach the subject as they waited on news from the Ministry, so she left it alone.

The hour grew late and still no news had come. By time dinner was served, Hermione's stomach was in a ball of knots. The two witches had just tucked into a summer salad when Kingsley's patronus, a lynx, strolled into the kitchen.

" _I've been elected Minister for Magic. Certain procedures require I stay through the evening. I'll return in the morning."_

It was as Hermione feared, yet expected. She sighed as the lynx disappeared. "I guess, I shouldn't be surprised," she started the conversation after she had taken a bite of her salad.

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "Your father has long been considered for the position. I'm surprised honestly it took this long."

Hermione pushed her curls from her forehead. "What does mean now? I guess it would have been too much to hope for a quiet summer."

Narcissa took a sip of water. "I daresay, Hermione, the fun for you has just begun," Narcissa chuckled in a way that instantly made her think of her mother and the first time she boarded at King's Cross.

Over the coming days, Hermione was grateful for the reclusiveness of Crestmoor. She and Kingsley's movements were a hot topic for the press in the wake of Voldemort's return. The political sphere of the wizarding world actively postured that Kingsley would declare an all-out war; not to mention their personal lives were a common source of entertainment for the gossip mills.

While Kingsley readied the Ministry, he ordered the renovation of his family home for Hermione's arrival. Until then, she agreed to stay at Crestmoor in the interim. She honestly did not feel like facing her friends' questions, or the press, and was grateful for a moment of peace.

Until Draco arrived a few days later from Hogwarts.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms as he entered the house with his trunk. The two teens stared at each other across the entryway. Despite sharing a school for five years, it felt dangerously intimate sharing a living space with the blond.

Her heart began to race as he came inside to greet his mother first before dipping his head in greeting to her.

Then the arguing had started.

Inadvertently, Hermione had taken his room on the upper level, but she stubbornly refused to move once she'd settled in. The room did wonders to calm her, though she wouldn't tell anyone that, and she placed her foot down on the matter. Knowing Narcissa would take her side, she smirked when his mother chided Draco to be more hospitable, and bade he take the room on the lower level.

Things became incredibly tense when Draco learned that his father had been arrested due to her friends' actions at the Ministry that night. Hermione kept mum where she had stunned Lucius and prohibited his escape.

Cold shoulders and heated glances between the two erupted over their morning meal less than a day later. It started with Hermione asking Draco to pass the butter, and Draco inserted a snip about her friends. She knew he was hurt about the situation overall, but she was agitated and found she couldn't take it any longer.

"Your father's choices led to his where he is. It's not the Order's fault he's in Azkaban!" Hermione finally spoke the truth, tired of walking on eggshells around Draco's feelings.

Eyes darkened, Draco accused over their morning porridge, "Potter had to go sticking his nose where it didn't belong. This would have never happened if it were for his bloody need to play 'hero'."

Hermione shot back, "Harry thought his god-father was in trouble! He was doing what he thought was best!"

" _Your_  god-father needed assistance," Draco emphasized to her. "And yet you did nothing to help him."

"What was I supposed to do?" Hermione said between clenched teeth. "Turn tail and fire upon my friends?"

"It's what he did for you!"

Both pushed from the table, and rose from their seats. They stared at each other, accusation sharp and heated between them.

Something sharply stung her chest, but she ignored it as she pointed her finger at Draco. "I repaid your father for saving my life, by carrying out his final wish. To see you and your mother to safety. If you can't see that, then you need you to grow up."

"Of course, you'd never see it from my side," he snarled at her. "The world hails St. Potter and holier-than-thou Granger-turned-pureblood-princess, while my mother and I are holed away in some Muggle village. I can't visit my friends because the Dark Lord is seeking to kill my family and I'm supposed to be grateful you followed my father's wishes."

"What more do you what me to do?!"

"I want you to pick a bloody side, Granger! Your family or your friends!?"

"Just as you have, you mean?" she accused with narrow eyes. "What are doing, Draco? I don't know if you've heard, but there's a war coming! The Order has brought you and your mother under their protection. Just what are you going to do about it?"

"Why the bloody hell do you need to know what I'm doing? And I didn't ask for your or the bloody Order's protection!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at the blond's arrogance. "Regardless, what are you going to do about it? Sit around and sulk?"

"Draco! Hermione!" Narcissa admonished as she swept into the kitchen, gloved hands on her hips. She had been dressed for outdoor work and was flushed from the summer sun. "I could hear you two all the way out in the garden," she chastised them both. "What in Merlin's name are you two yelling about?"

Hermione shot Draco a look, almost daring him to speak.

Draco's nostrils flared in agitation, before he returned to his seat. "Nothing," he clipped, his eyes trained on Hermione.

Likewise, Hermione returned to her seat. She sighed, and briefly closed her eyes before also responding, "Nothing."

Narcissa glanced between the two, disbelieving, but chose not to press the matter. The following days were awkward and filled with strain. Narcissa did her best to ease the tension been between her son and god-daughter. Hermione frequently caught Narcissa and Draco furiously arguing in whispered tones about something important, though she could not tell what it was.

In other matters, Kingsley often wrote to her during his days at the Ministry. It was through these letters that Hermione learned of updates on Voldemort's movements. Apparently, he was furious since his defeat at the Department of Mysteries and sought vengeance against the Order. Since that fateful day, Voldemort had gone underground someplace unknown and actively recruited members for his army.

Kingsley was kept desperately busy at the Ministry; it took a whole week for him to find an afternoon to visit her parents. However, she recognized his need for structure, organization, and perfect execution, so Hermione could not begrudge him the time needed to get his new administration up and somewhat running.

In early July, they finally made the trip to her parents' two story colonial. She was anxious, but not nervous, the moment she rang the doorbell to her family home. The door opened and finally, after that disastrous time in March when Rita Skeeter had spilled the beans about her parentage, Hermione could sit and have an actual conversation between the four of them. Hermione did most of the talking, explaining how she had come to learn about her pureblood birth parents, how she and her birth mother were attacked, with she later placed for adoption within the Muggle community. Kingsley filled in where he could, though he was clearly uncomfortable with the subject of the attack. But the respect he paid the Grangers for raising Hermione was genuine. After a few hours, the last of uncomfortableness washed away.

Over a lunch of fish and chips, Hermione asked if it was alright to spend more time with Kingsley and the world he came from. She didn't say out loud that she was rapidly beginning to think of it as  _home_ , but she had an inkling her parents knew how excited she was. They always knew there was a possibility that she might find her birth parents, and never seeking to discourage her, gave their blessing to spend a trial period with Kingsley. She almost legally an adult, she would be seventeen come September, but her parents gave their formal blessing anyway. All four the left the Grangers' on good terms, and Hermione promised to write.

As they left the Grangers', Kingsley turned to a jubilant Hermione. "So, I am available for a few days while the various departments assemble status reports. How would you like to stop by the continent?"

Hermione's brows raised in anticipation. "To France?" she asked suggestively.

"There's this place I've been waiting to show you," he winked at her as he took a hold of her hand and Apparated them away.

* * *

The next day, Narcissa, Kingsley, and Hermione left for a country village on the outskirts of Marseille, France. Draco had been invited to travel with them, but declined to spend time with Severus, or away from her, Hermione mused. That was fine by Hermione as the three English wizards landed at the edge of rose garden that was as vast as it was wide; Hermione felt butterflies settle within her joints as she beheld the picturesque country manor.

A bountiful arch framed the entryway to the gardens and the pristine white-brick manor beyond. Covered in vines, the famed house words Hermione had previously read about were etched upon its arch stone:  _Grace a la lumiere et de l'amour_. As Hermione passed under House Delacour's words she felt a warm magic wash over and greet her.

Just as quickly, a witch no older than Narcissa, with flowing straw-blonde locks rushed from the front entrance onto the pebbled driveway to greet them.

As she neared, she greeted in exhilaration, "Zis house knows when a daughter of Delacour has returned. Mon Cherie!" The witch, ignoring Kingsley and Narcissa, wrapped her arms around a stunned Hermione. "Can it be?"

Fleur Delacour, who had grown even more beautiful since Hermione saw her last, followed behind the woman, along with her sister. "Maman? Who is it?"

"Oh, Fleur, Gabrielle. Come quickly," she bade to the part-Veela. "Kins-ley? Narcissa? Oh, is it true?" The French witch spoke very fast. It was difficult to understand her English over her thick accent. "We read in the papers, but we weren't sure." The woman turned back to Hermione and began inspecting her face, her hair. "Oh, you look so much like your mother."

Kingsley smiled as he leaned forward to kiss the witch. "Yes, Apolline it is true." He turned to Hermione and made the formal introductions. "This is Hermione, born Emmeline Shacklebolt. And Hermione, this is Apolline Delacour, Marie's sister, your Aunt."

Apolline leaned down to place double air-kisses on Hermione's cheeks. Fleur and Gabrielle followed in quick succession as hugs and kisses were exchanged all around. "Oh, I knew as soon as ze wards alerted me. The blood does not lie." She turned to the group with tears in her eyes. "Please, please. Do come in."

They spent the remainder of the day learning about Hermione's life and reminiscing about Marie. Apolline had many pictures of the witch from when were children and shared them with Hermione, insisting they were hers to keep. Soon after, she left the room only to return with something in her hands. She presented the small gift to Hermione.

Inside her cupped hand was as a small golden charm in the shape of a rose. It was outfitted with precious rubies and emeralds.

"After Kins-ley gave you a bracelet upon your birth, Marie wrote to me. She wanted ze insignia of our House, a rose, made for you as well." She handed the rose charm to Hermione, who took it humbly. "I'm sorry, mon Cherie, zhat she is not 'ere to give it to you, but please accept it on our behalf."

Kingsley beamed proudly as his daughter accepted the charm and affixed it to her bracelet. Now she had two charms to represent her birth parents. She would carry them both for the rest of her life.

"I'd be honored to. Thank you," Hermione said to Apolline with unshed tears in her eyes.

During her time at the Delacour estate, Hermione spent little time alone. She went shopping for a new wardrobe, visited Beaubaxtons, and spent time about the lush Delacour library. Summer in the south of France was more oppressive than it was in England, but Hermione loved that her new selection of clothes, courtesy of Narcissa, made it more a comfortable experience. Sadly, summer was nearly halfway over, which meant less time to spend with Kingsley, Appoline, and even Narcissa, who she was coming quickly to regard as a friend.

They were currently on the fifth day of their visit to the Delacour estate. As she dressed in her guest room, Hermione unfurled a piece of parchment she had brought with her and glanced over the list of text she had been compiling since this past Spring. Chewing on her bottom lip, she pocketed the piece of parchment (her new white dress had pockets, fancy that!) and shut her bedroom door or her way to join Narcissa, Apolline, and Fleur for tea. Kingsley had left via portkey for the Ministry earlier that day (an emergency he stated). He would be back for dinner, but Hermione was content to spend the day with the elegant witches.

One way or another she was going to get answers to her questions.

She felt woefully out of place with the beautiful women dressed in varying shades of blush, sky blue, and white as they chatted amicably on the veranda under a great, white parasol. But they never made her felt out of place as they chatted about various matters.

Once their conversation had come to a comfortable break, Hermione bravely asked her question. "I've read that the Veela gene in the Delacour line originated from the original gene pool, in what is now Sweden. Is that correct?"

Narcissa set her tea cup down, somewhat surprised at the sudden line of questioning. But it was Apolline who answered Hermione, smiling at her cleverness.

"Zat is correct, mon Cherie. Ze Veela gene is passed through ze matrilineal line, as I'm sure you know," she explained as she poured herself a cup of tea. "Ze Delacour Veela gene dates back to ze first gang of Veela in ze 1100s. Our ancestor, Shaera, migrated to France and established ze Maison de Delacour. We have been 'ere ever since."

"And, Shaera, was it? She married a Delacour?" Hermione queried, wishing desperately for parchment and quill as she committed this conversation to memory.

Apolline shook her head in the negative. "She was with child when she arrived and established Delacour as her surname. She wanted ze child to have a normal life. You zee, Veela were hunted for zeir venom and hair in ze old country. Zey were used for potions, dark magic, and ze like. But Shaera did not want that for her child. So, she gave birth 'ere, to a daughter. Zhat daughter grew to marry a wizard, and following her mother, kept the Delacour surname and passed it onto 'er child and zeir children, after them."

Hermione nodded and turned to Fleur. "Your mother and you are part-Veela." It was a statement, not a question. Hermione remembered how Fleur's status as a magical creature during her fourth-year had been a hot topic, especially among the boys in her year.

"I am half," Apolline spoke for her daughter with a nod. "My Fleur is only part. Ask your question, niece. Zere is no need to 'ide amongst family."

Hermione swallowed, before reverting to her original line of question. "Was my mother half-Veela, as well? Am I?"

Apolline smiled as she signaled for more tea to be brought out. "Marie and I were both half-Veela, yes. But she never matured…"

"Matured?" Narcissa asked, as she poured a new cup of tea for herself and for Hermione.

It was Fleur who then answered, "At age seventeen, the child matures to a full-blooded Veela, or in my mother's case and mine, a part-Veela. Seventeen is when traditional traits are presented."

"At seventeen, I inherited my Veela traits," Apolline agreed. "At seventeen, my Fleur did as well. As will Gabrielle, if she matures. However, Marie, never matured when her seventeenth had approached and gone. She grew as a witch, but did not display ze traits our family naturally possess. After matriculation from Beaubaxtons, she was arranged to the 'eir of House Shacklebolt in England. Mother thought it would be best for her to start life anew across the sea."

Hermione pondered, "Was she sad about the arrangement?"

"Marie was always a stubborn thing. She was against zhe marriage from the start, but swooned the moment she met your father," Apolline recalled the day in question. "If I am honest, I think we all did, he was  _tres beau_  in his tailored dress robes."

The older witches at the table nodded in agreement, and Hermione blushed imagining the witches fantasizing about her father in his absence.

"Afterward, it did not matter that she had never matured," Apolline continued with a sigh. "She moved to 'is family home in Cambridge after ze wedding, had you, and was very happy."

Hermione gave a tight smile.  _Until the war_ , she thought to herself.

Apolline took a sip of her tea before continuing, "But zhat is not all you wish to ask, is it, child?"

Hermione hesitated, balling her cotton napkin within her lap. "I somewhat suspected based on what I've read, but I can't be sure. Did you experience any … symptoms before you both matured? That is to say, were there any signs before your seventeenth?"

Narcissa quickly put two and two together. "Hermione, have you been experiencing symptoms of late?"

The table leaned forward in anticipation of her response.

Hermione took a deep breath and cautiously responded, "I've only really begun to take note since this Spring…"

Apolline nodded understandingly. "A traditional time for full-blooded Veela to mate. Oui, go on."

Now even more apprehensive, Hermione swallowed and pulled the scrap of parchment from her pocket. Unfurling the parchment, she recounted the symptoms, "A heightened sense of smell. I can pick up distinct odors from across a room. In fact, all of my senses seem sharper. I attributed the earlier agitation and anxiety due to our upcoming O.W.L.s, but what you said about Spring and Veela patterns makes me think I may have been wrong. And…" she trailed off in embarrassment, her face surely aflame as she read over the latest symptom: one she had only added recently.

Narcissa placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Go on, dear. You are amongst family."

Hermione nodded. "Well ordinarily, I wouldn't go shopping for the sake of it, but it seems that overnight, my … my body has … altered." She was sure she was blushing now as she stared at her hands in her lap.

Narcissa titled her head thoughtfully as she recalled Hermione's shyness during their recent excursion to Paris. "You have curves where you did not seemingly have them before?" she gently finished for her god-daughter.

Hermione nodded, grateful the witch said it and not she. "Yes!" she exclaimed, thoroughly embarrassed. She pulled her arms closer to her body, trying not to draw attention to her breasts which had begun to grow in weight steadily over last month. Her hips were snug in all her old skirts and pants, and they were all too short on her legs. She gathered she had grown nearly two inches since the end of the term.

"When is your seventeenth, Hermione?" Fleur asked.

Narcissa and Hermione shared a glance. "A little over a month," Hermione replied evenly.

"Hmm," Apolline frowned. "Ze symptoms you are describing generally occurred  _after_  ze seventeenth birthday 'as passed. Do they not, Fleur?"

"Oui," the pretty witch nodded, a frown between her neat brows.

"Then what does that  _mean_?" Hermione nearly screeched, though she quickly apologized for her mini-outburst. She was truly worried now. "You said my mother never matured. Is there a chance that I won't as well?" Even as she spoke the question, she felt in her gut she knew the answer. Because genetics were a fickle thing, and what usually skipped in the previous generation, typically appeared, sometimes exponentially, in the following generation.

"It may mean nothing at all, 'ermione," Fleur attempted to soothe her cousin's worry.

Apolline relaxed in her chair. "Or it could mean you will mature into a Veela. Not a full-blooded one, since Marie was not one, but a potentially strong one nonetheless."

Hermione quickly recalled her facts from her magical creatures' class. "But Veela have pale hair and eyes." Hermione gestured to herself. "I'm-"

"You are an alluring witch with beautiful amber eyes, and skin the color of café au lait. It is not ze looks that matter, mon cherie. It is the blood. It is always the blood," Apolline finished for her.

Hermione took a deep breath for purchase. "Then what happens next? When a Veela matures? What traits did you gain when you reached maturity?" she asked to the two Veela at the table.

Fleur and Apolline shared a look. "It is hard to say," Apolline answered simply.

Fleur tried to explain, "Ze traits are not always the same from generation to generation. I received the ability to charm men to my will, sharpened senses. My sister, Gabrielle, may spout wings or nothing at all. But my mother…"

"I need to take the vein of my mate to live," Apolline stated factually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. "My Veela recognized my mate when I was eighteen. Magical law required that he be with me, but I wanted 'im to love me for who I was. It is not often, but I take 'is vein to sustain myself. Eventually we fell in love, married, and had two beautiful daughters, but all that Fleur said is true. You can have all of it, or none of it. It depends on ze blood."

Hermione pictured herself sprouting wings; it was almost enough to make her laugh. Delirium started to take over. "And how will I know?"

"The morning of your seventeenth birthday or shortly thereafter. Your Veela will tell you," Apolline informed her. But that didn't make sense. Was this Veela her, or a separate entity within?

"But my seventeenth is during school," she looked imploringly at Narcissa. "What am I supposed to say to my teachers…my friends?!"

Narcissa smile was tight as she tried to reassure the witch with a sympathetic nod. "Don't worry, dear. I'll speak to Dumbledore and Minerva. Merlin, I'll even speak with Severus."

Hermione vigorously shook her head at that.

But Narcissa insisted, "Hermione, he really is the best at keeping secrets should you want no one to know. I know he will be able to help you while you are at school."

"It's better first to find out if you are or not," Apolline reminded her, to which Fleur nodded in agreement. "No need to get in a panic over something that might never occur."

Hermione looked to Apolline and Narcissa, "Do you think Marie knew?"

"No, I don't think she could have known," Narcissa replied gently. "But she would have told you the history, I'm sure." After a pause, she pressed further, "Hermione, do you want me to tell your father?"

Hermione shook her head, not ready for that conversation. "I'll tell him, but not yet. He has a lot going on at the Ministry for now. And I need to think this over."

What if she was a Veela? What would mean for her going forward? Her head grew heavy with theories, and unapologetically, she asked, "Do you mind if I visit your library for a few?"


	12. Two Roads Diverged

"Enjoying your summer holiday?"

On the surface, the benign question during the height of summer should have been expected, but between Godfather and Godson, it carried a wealth of undertones and subtleties.

Draco sneered to the green hills, the only constant since his arrival to the Crestmoor two months ago. "If you call imprisonment a holiday."

Severus Snape had stopped by at least once a day to check on him. The Potions Master lifted a brow as he asked, "You didn't want to travel with your mother and the Shacklebolts to France? I'm sure that would have been allowed."

Draco gave a petulant frown. "My mother's been fawning over Granger since the debacle at the Ministry. I'm sure she would have hardly notice if I was there or not."

"You never took jealously well, Draco."

Draco looked at Severus, pausing before continuing, "My mother told me something before she left for France. I'm not sure how to take it."

"Well…?" Severus drawled, clearly annoyed when the youth did not continue.

Draco looked out to the countryside. "According to her, Father had made an arrangement with Shacklebolt a bit after I was born."

Severus placed his hands within the sleeves of his robe as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the teen. "You mean that you are affianced to his daughter?"

"How did you know?" Severus raised a brow to that, to which Draco replied, "Never mind. I know better than to ask." Arrogantly, he asserted, "I'm not surprised my father arranged a match he thought was beneficial to our standing, but to Granger?"

Severus tsk-ed. "To a reputable House, to prestige, to power, Draco. The Slytherin trifecta."

Deep in thought, Draco's frown deepened. "Her friends and father are the reason my father is currently in Azkaban and remains there."

Severus clipped, "I'm quite sure you knew where your father stood on current events, Draco. But the question is, do you?"

Carelessly, the teen shrugged a shoulder. "The thought had crossed my mind."

"Then you know what is coming. How important it is to make wise decisions."

"And what exactly is the best decision, Severus? Should I follow in your footsteps?" He lifted a blond brow to his duplicitous professor.

"This isn't about me, it's about you, you twit. Are you prepared for what is coming? For what is coming for your family? Your father was supposed to protect your mother, and you by extension. That Granger persuaded Kingsley to bring you both here to safety speaks of the regard they hold for your family. But responsibility for your family now lies with you."

"What are you saying?"

Severus turned and started back for the house, and the fireplace within, no doubt off to wherever he went during the summer months. "I'm saying it's time to stop whinging, Draco. It's time to think and make decisions for yourself. Not for your mother, not for your father or his allegiances, but for you."

His interest peeked, he tagged along beside Severus. "Are you saying I should …?"

Severus interrupted him coolly, "I am saying there are moving pieces, that despite your feelings on the fairness of it all, that are hurling towards you faster than you think. Some want to shelter you from it. I prefer if you were presented all the options."

Draco smirked, as the conversation finally grew interesting. "Then by all means, do tell."

* * *

Ginny Weasley was incensed. Ron scooted ever closer to a freshly-tanned Hermione on the couch they shared, while Harry and Neville seemed genuinely happy for her.

"I still can't believe you didn't tell us you went to Paris?!" the rising fifth year simmered as she leafed through a Qudditch magazine. It took until the end of August for Hermione to finally visit the Weasleys, Neville, and Harry. Her summer had been quite busy as her world expanded with people and information that demanded her attention. She tried to impart this to her friends, as they all underestimated how much her world would change after Kingsley rose to the position of Minister.

"Honestly, I didn't know I was until Kingsley informed us a break in his schedule," Hermione argued on behalf on her father, a bit defensively. "I've hardly had the time I wanted to spend with him since the vote in June, so the moment the opportunity presented itself, I jumped at it."

Ron moved closer to her on the couch. As their arms touched, she leaned away inexplicably uncomfortable with the contact. Bu the more she did, the more he followed. It was subtle, but unwanted nonetheless.

Ginny sat on the floor of the Burrow, while Harry and Neville lounged on a sofa opposite she and Ron. There was one week until the start of their sixth year and Ginny's fifth, and after a trip to Diagon Alley, the teens gathered around the Weasley home's lower level for ice cream and general chatter before the new term started.

"So, how was Paris?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. Hermione smiled at her friend who was so easy to read. Harry was much more relaxed, and seeing how he hadn't gone back to the Dursleys, he seemed in a better mood than the annoyed Ginny. "Sirius and I spent some time in Romania with Charlie, but I bet it wasn't as nice as Paris."

Hermione leaned back in the couch comfortably as she twirled her rose- and lightning bolt-charmed bracelet. "It was lovely. We went shopping, attended the French Ministry of Magic's Wizengamot, and met my mother's family. It was very informative."

"You mean Phlegm?" Ginny mimed gagging, as she pointed a finger inside her mouth.

"Gin, that's mean. Fleur is my cousin, and is actually very pleasant."

"Don't tell me you've fallen for her Veela charms too?" Ginny laughed. "You're as bad as Bill."

Hermione blushed at the mention of 'Veela', unsure how to continue to conversation at this juncture. She hated to hide things from her friends, but this was something she was unsure of herself. And it would do no good to fuel speculation until she knew the facts. And the only way to know would be to wait for the morning of her birthday.

The date in question was three weeks away, and she was pretty sure something other than traditional puberty was happening. She noticed boys paying her more attention. At Madam Malkins' and Flourish and Botts', twice she had been approached by strangers for a date outright. Cormac McLaggen chatted her up until Harry had come to her rescue. Even Ron seemed to smiling more her way. It was all very confusing and unwanted, but she steadily catalogued every occurrence for reference later against the books her Aunt had loaned her. She imagined it could be Veela pheromones, but there was no way to sure. She wished she could have discussed this with Marie.

So until September 19th, she would remain mum on her latest discovery. The generous amount of Veela history and information Apolline allowed her to borrow had kept her thoroughly engaged these past few nights.

She pulled away from Ron again, and this time the annoyance manifested on her face. "It's hard not to notice their exquisite features up close," Hermione clipped. "Though Mrs. Malfoy is more suited to their company that I could ever be. She practically oozes grace." Hermione smiled at the memory, oblivious to the tension in the room at the mention of the Malfoy matriarch.

Ron stiffened beside her. "Travelling with the Malfoys. Politicking on behalf of the Ministry. It's like you're entirely a different person, 'Mione," Ron harrumphed beside her.

Hermione internally cringed at the short-handed version of her name. "I am not. Kingsley's moved into the most visible position within Ministry during a particularly volatile period. I'm his daughter, what do you expect to happen? But all of that does little to negate who I am." She pulled her legs up underneath her as she leaned in conspiratorially, seeking to change the topic. "But you won't believe what I've learned from Kingsley about Voldemort's movements."

That peaked the room's attention as she shared with Neville, Harry, Ron and Ginny the plans Kingsley began to set in motion at the Ministry. In consultation with Dumbledore, there were tentative plans to strike hard before Voldemort could. Kingsley worked to strengthen the Auror program, and had proposed relaxed requirements to bolster their lagging numbers. If the new measure passed, seventeen year-old wizards would be allowed join the Ministry's efforts against Voldemort.

"Blimey," Neville sat back stunned after she had finished.

"Seventeen!?" Ron asked, astonished. "I could go right from Hogwarts to fighting the Dark come March," Ron surmised, his eyes meeting Harry's across the way.

"You'll finish school first! How can you possibly fight experienced wizards while you're learning basic defense!" Hermione sternly reminded them.

Harry nodded resolutely at Ron, catching his meaning. "Why not? We've known for a bit that it would come to this. The battle this past June proves it and Sirius says we can fight. If Kingsley need the numbers…" he trailed off meaningfully.

"As if Mom will allow you both to sign up for war." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Don't rightly need her permission, now do we?" Ron countered. "And besides, if Harry's going, I'm going," Ron and Harry shared a serious look as if plans were being made right then and there.

"You can't possibly be serious?" Hermione argued.

"You can't possibly expect me to remain in school when there's a war going on?" Harry challenged her back.

"I'd expect you both to act like rational adults before rushing to something rash. Besides this is proposed legislation and will need to be enacted by decree of the Wizengamot," Hermione finished, though it did nothing to soothe her worry. Her friends could little be stopped once they had their minds set on something, and though she did not regret sharing this newest piece of information with them, she did worry what plans she had now set in motion.

But before the room could further delve into argument, Molly announced dinner. She pestered Hermione to stay, while indiscreetly pushing Ron towards her. Politely and forcefully, Hermione declined, citing meal plans with Kingsley that evening.

She floo'ed to Shacklebolt Hall half past seven. The Hall was a stately red-brick Colonial situated within the heart of Cambridge. After Kingsley had been elected Minister, the home had been placed under a  _Fidelius_  and Muggle repellent charm to protect the family's safety. Two Aurors were stationed on guard at all times. Established as the seat of the Shacklebolts over two hundred years ago, the home was well cared for, boasted 6 bedrooms, and a grand hall on its main level for entertaining. The kitchens were hidden away in the basement. After their trip to France, Kingsley remodeled the closed-off room that had been Hermione's as an infant into a room fit for a mature teen.

Unfortunately, the calm night she thought awaited her evaporated the moment she saw Narcissa Malfoy sitting with her father in his study.

"Hermione," Narcissa greeted from her chair across from Kingsley's desk. She tried to smile, but her eyes were red. "It is good to see you, dear."

Hermione looked between her father and Godmother. "Is everything alright?"

Kingsley sat behind his oak desk, the weight of the world on his shoulders as he clearly struggled to address his daughter. "Please," he offered to the empty chair beside Narcissa. "Sit down."

Hermione did so, dread settling into the pit of her stomach. "What's the matter?"

Kingsley closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as she often did when stressed. "We've little time to discuss familial matters as of late. But that is solely my fault. This position has taken more time than I've realized."

She nodded encouragingly. "I know. I don't fault you for it."

Kingsley sighed, grateful for her support but still apprehensive. He leaned forward onto his desk, his hands interlocked as if in prayer. "You must know, that as the Minister for Magic's daughter, certain customs are expected to be upheld. Traditions bring a stability to our world, even in the midst of turmoil."

"What kind of traditions?" Hermione whispered, the dread in her stomach turned into clammy fear.

Narcissa responded, softly and kindly, "Marriages, dear."

Hermione blinked rapidly at her hands in her lap, though she saw nothing. "You've arranged a marriage for me, you mean?" Her heart raced faster than the pace of the conversation.

"You were a babe," Kingsley began.

"To who?" she grated between clenched teeth, still looking at her hands.

"Had everything not had unfolded the way it did, then Marie and I could have properly prepared you," Kingsley continued.

"To who?!" she pleaded, though a sinking part of her had an inkling.

"You have to understand, Emme. Our people  _will_  look to your union."

"To who?!" But Hermione looked at Narcissa, who smiled timidly and suddenly, she knew. She swallowed and guessed, "To Draco, you mean?"

Sighing, Kingsley explained, "Lucius and I made an arrangement, shortly after Draco was born."

Now she lifted heated eyes to her father and Narcissa. "You both knew about this the entire time?!"

"I had just found you, after thinking you dead for so long. It wouldn't have been the proper time to bring up such a matter, especially after learning your initial history with Draco. But you need to know before you both return to school."

"Is it permanent?" Hermione reached, thinking through spells and curses that could remedy this.

"It has been set in blood. As long as both of you are alive, then you are to be wed."

Hermione started to hyperventilate in her seat. Her life had been flipped too many times to count since last year. And now this? But what about her potential creature inheritance? What if her mate was someone else entirely? Did Kingsley ever think of that possibility? That his daughter could be a Veela and possibly mated to another different than the one had bethored her to? Her breath she shallow with each passing thought.

Narcissa continued, seeing as Kingsley was pained to have caused his newly-found daughter distress. "Draco recently learned of this betrothal as well, Hermione. He always knew his father would make a match among one of the old families, but honestly, we didn't think much of it until it was confirmed that you had returned to us. I know this is a lot to take in, dear…"

"Yes, you  _should_  know!" Hermione jumped from her chair, glaring accusingly at Narcissa. Her Godmother knew her predicament; knew what she was waiting for come the morning of her birthday.

"And we will figure it out together," she vowed to Hermione. Both ignored Kingsley's raised brow. "But you are the Minister's daughter…"

Hermione interrupted them both in a fit, her curls flying wildly with unrestrained magic. "But I'm not the Minister's daughter." Tears at the unfairness of it all burned heavy within her eyes. "I'm just…Hermione," she finished as if that one word summed up how much she did not ask for this.

Kingsley nodded understandingly. "And an heir to a great House. Just as I was, and Draco's father before him. There are responsibilities that come with that, sweetheart."

"I don't have to accept this. I mean, I  _can't_." She looked at Narcissa imploringly, who looked sympathetic to her plight. Narcissa grabbed a hold of Hermione's hand.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose once more. "The magical arrangement I drafted with Lucius was sealed in blood. It's nigh unbreakable, unless broken by death."

"How can wizards and witches continue a practice so archaic, and for your own children no less?" Hermione posed to them both, though she knew any answer they gave would be unsatisfactory. She was not wrong.

"It is how we were raised," Kingsley dutifully explained. "And what is expected of us as parents. We aspire to give our children nothing but the best. Believe me, Marie was never a fan of the practice either. She thought that I had sold your future to another, when we both knew where his father loyalties laid."

"And with good reason!" She shouted back.

"Emme, please! You and I both know Draco is not like his father."

But she was beyond done with this conversation. "I'll be in my room for the remainder of the evening." She started for the exit. "Excuse me."

Summer had started on a high, before it came tumbling to a low. From finding out that she could be part-Veela, that her friends were anxious to rush off to war, or that her life had been pre-arranged; the constant thread was no say in the matter. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place and with no place to turn. She thought she could handle it all, but the combined weight of societal pressures, pureblood culture, and a potential creature inheritance strained her relationship with her birth father and her Minister as their populace marched toward war.


	13. Hermione's Seventeenth

"Do you have everything you need?" Kingsley asked, as he leaned against the doorjamb, amazed at the simple sight of his daughter moving about the room that had once been hers as she packed her supplies for the coming year. The little things brought him immeasurable happiness at a time when the stresses of his position brought very little. He had now been Minister for almost two months and things were still not in order. Voldermort and his forces had gone into hiding, coming out to conduct seemingly random attacks on Muggle and Wizarding places alike. With assistance from the Order, Kingsley tried to stay one step ahead, but it was difficult to predict the steps of a madman.

His daughter glanced up after depositing a stack of books, freshly acquired from Diagon Alley, into her trunk. "Yes. I believe so."

"Have you heard from your parents?" He still struggled with the phrase, but had come to accept that she associated the term with the Grangers, and not him.

She nodded. "I received an owl from them last night. They are fine with you seeing me off at King's Cross."

He smiled at that. "I'm glad to hear that." Now, came the hard part. How could he broach the sensitive topic of his teenaged daughter's arranged marriage? He was prepared for everything from the silent treatment to hexes as he bravely asked, "So… are you still cross with me?"

Hermione firmly closed the lid to her trunk. "I'm not cross with you, per se. I'm upset at the situation. I'm meticulous by nature and the fact is, one of the most important decisions I'll ever make,  _if_  I decide to make it, has been taken from me. My input in the decision has been removed. It makes all of it hard to accept. I mean, had you or Marie ever considered the possibility that I could be interested in women?" she asked.

Kingsley coughed as he moved off the doorjamb.

Hermione shook her head at the obvious inconsideration to her sexuality. "I guess not."

Kingsley moved forward to grab her hands. "Sweetheart, listen. It makes me incredibly upset to see you like this. And I grow even more frustrated because had I not lost you or your mother, then maybe this conversation would have happened differently…"

"Do you mean to imply that I would have been more docile about such a decision?" She interrupted with a sharply raised brow.

He sighed before amending, "I mean, you would have had this information from a very early age. You would have grown up with this impending arrangement, with the knowledge and history of how our world, how the microcosm to which we belong, operates," he finished.

Hermione sat down on the poster bed. "Many things would have been different, I imagine. I'm sorry, as well, but I can't change how I feel towards the situation."

"Have you spoken to Draco since Narcissa and I told you about this?"

Hermione shook her head, disappointed at the unusual lack of courage. "I haven't. Narcissa mentioned Draco's been busy with Severus and I left it at that. I doubt he's happy about the situation as well."

Kingsley sought to comfort her, "He may be unhappy, but he recognizes the duty he has to his House."

"A duty?!" she scoffed, disgusted. "Is that how I should see this? As a 'duty', I must perform?"

Kingsley warred to remain patient with the teen, mentally reminding himself that she was not privy to their traditions. Again, he wished Marie could be here. She could have explained it better than he, as she had reservations about their union as well. To the best of his ability, he tried to explain, "You are not engaged, nor are you marrying him anytime soon, you know, that right? The particulars will be amendable to your terms," he stressed as he sat on the bed beside her.

"You and Narcissa would rather we wed immediately after graduation, I'm sure?" Hermione sarcastically replied.

Frustrated, he replied a bit curtly, "I would have you happy with this situation first! I hope you know that. Your happiness is paramount to me. Over my position at the Ministry, over my obligations, over everything." He hugged her and was suddenly taken back to when had begged Marie all those years ago in this very room to stay.

In a similar fashion, he pleaded with an intensity that forced his daughter now, in place of his wife then, to listen, "Among our circle, it is a father's greatest duty to ensure that such a union maintains an equal or greater station to what his daughter had growing up." He cupped her cheeks, his eyes filled with tears for their pained past. "I would have given you the world growing up, Emme," he whispered as he stroked her cheek. "Because you are my daughter, an Heir to House Shacklebolt, you  _deserve_  the best. And as the young lady I've had the pleasure to get to know in these past short months, I am convinced you've earned the absolute best. You are an intelligent, kind-hearted, and beautiful witch."

An," he struggled for alternative phrasing, " _alliance_  with the Malfoys will not only secure your financial future," he overrode her coming protest, "not that you care about it in slightest, I know. But beyond that, such an alliance will give you a window into the inner workings of our world you would have immense difficulty penetrating otherwise. I say this not to slight your concerns, Emme. They are valid. But what I am saying, is if you truly wish to change our world for the better,  _use_  the Malfoy name, connection, and yes, their influence to break the mold. You could do it as Hermione Granger, I know you could. But you would be nigh unstoppable as Emmeline Shacklebolt Malfoy."

* * *

The morning of 1st September seemed like old hat for the returning students of Hermione's class. She and Kingsley walked ahead of the Auror detail that accompanied them onto the platform at 9 ¾. If others stopped and stared at her and the Minister for Magic strolling shoulder aside, she did not notice. She waved to the Weasleys, Sirius, and Harry further down the platform before turning to her father.

"If I'm honest," Kingsley started with a smile, "I would rather jump on with you and spend another year in McGonagall's Transformation class, than deal with these Ministry stiffs."

Hermione laughed and tucked a curl behind her ear. "This summer went by too fast," she agreed.

He nudged her chin up towards him. "Christmas will be here before you know it."

Hermione smiled in return. "It's a date." Quickly, she pulled the larger man down to her for a hug.

He enveloped her in the tightest hug imaginable before whispering in her hair, "I love you, Emme."

Hermione smiled into his shoulder. She wasn't there  _yet_ , but she could feel the warmth growing within, that told her love for this man was rapidly approaching. "Thank you. For France, for everything," she pulled back, gratitude shining in her eyes.

Smirking, Kingsley explained, "I've told Dumbledore that if he doesn't want the weight of the Ministry bearing down on him, to look out for you," he remarked with part-seriousness, and part-jest.

" _Dad_ ," she flushed, embarrassingly looking around to see if her fellow students overheard. Her eyes widened at the term that slipped, uncertain where it came from. But there it was.

Kingsley beamed harder as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, seeking not to further press the moment. "The Aurors will work with Dumbledore on an arrangement for the school year. I doubt they'll be allowed onto school grounds..."

"Are you sure there isn't any other way to satisfy security concerns without having Aurors trailing me?"

He shook his head, sympathetic to what she would face. "I'm afraid not. But Dumbledore will determine an appropriate medium that guarantees your safety and respects your privacy within reason. However," he warned, "I've given the Aurors explicit instruction to obliviate any wizard who tries any funny business."

Hermione rose a brow to that. "Funny business? Really." With that, he loaded her trunk onto the train and she turned to give her final goodbyes. "I'll expect the Ministry to be in top shape come the holidays."

He gave her one last hug and sent her on her way. "You got it, sweetheart."

Hermione boarded the train ahead of her detail (a female Auror who wore a permanent scowl) eager to find her friends, but was stopped by seemingly every other person who wanted to say hello or ask her how her summer was. She quickly discerned the students' collective motive, and attempted to respond to each without seeming rude. But it got to the point of annoyance very quickly.

"Is this what you lot call groveling? I've seen better arse-kissing from a House elf," a cold drawl quieted the crowd around. They soon scattered as Draco, clad in all black, strutted down the car corridor. Whispers about how his father, a Death Eater, had been sent to Azkaban followed the crowds as they dispersed.

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest as he approached. He had grown since she saw him last. Minor details caught her eye: a bit of height there; a wider chest there; longer, pale hair that fell nearly to his eyes. The attitude and arrogance had not changed as he sneered to the last of the hangers-on, quickly scattering them away.

After the Auror moved to grant them some privacy, she stumbled on what to say. Decision made, "Draco," she said by way of greeting.

"Hermione." He nodded in response, his eyes raking from her new shoes, courtesy of his mother, up to her chest before finally landing on her eyes.

"Have an interesting summer holiday?" She reverted to niceties, considering the palpable strain between them. It wasn't every day you spoke to your betrothed before the start of school.

"Quite."

"Same," she agreed with a grimace. Well, this was going swimmingly.

He looked out the window as the train lurched forward and slowly pulled out of the station. "All good, then?" he asked to the window, avoiding her gaze. She quickly caught his meaning.

Hermione nodded, also looking around. "Keep it a secret, yeah?"

"Gladly," he firmly assured, before sliding grey eyes back to hers.

"Good," she replied, relieved.

"Great." With that, he touched her hip, indicating he wanted to pass.

Her heart raced as she caught an alluring aroma as he passed. Was he now wearing cologne? She turned to watch him walk the length of the train and disappeared into the next car.

Running a hand through her hair, she fell against the car window. Well, at least that was out of the way.

* * *

The unwanted attention and hangers-on did not stop when the Express pulled into Hogsmeade that evening. Harry teased her, glad not to be the center of attention, while Ron and Ginny protectively surrounded her as they made their way into the welcome feast that night. The Auror had been dragged to Dumbledore's office for an official briefing.

In the interim, she was bombarded. Students either wanted to know what her father was planning to stop Voldemort, or sought insider information for future job prospects. It was madness and somewhat sickening the way they tried to pump her for information.

Even the snakes treated her differently. They still disliked her for her affiliation with Harry Potter and for being a Gryffindor, but there was a marked difference in how they acknowledged her, and no longer looked down at her as classes formally begun.

Well, save Pansy Parkinson. The witch still sneered at her like Hermione stole her last bottle of nail polish. Pansy Parkinson and Marrietta Edgecombe must have grown thick as thieves over the summer as the two witches were hardly seen without the other in tow. Hermione rolled her eyes and opted to focus on her new, grueling class schedule.

But, she would be careless not to admit another kind of attention as well. It was the kind of attention she was not used to in the slightest. Wizards in her year, fifth year, and seventh year began to approach her on a regular basis during her time in the library, in the Great Hall, or after classes. They asked inane questions that had little do with anything or worst, pretended they needed her assistance with something. But she did not miss the innuendo of what lay behind their curiousity.

The worst of it came when Ginny and her roommates started to notice the ten-yard stares, calf eyes, and general sleazy pick-up lines sent her way and suddenly, Hermione was the center of attention with them, too. They wanted to know her secret, when she'd updated her out-of-class wardrobe, and what'd been done to her hair (that was the worst comment of all).

Her male friends were somewhat helpful in this regard.

"I could walk with you between classes, if you'd like," Ron suggested a week before her birthday. Breakfast was once again cut short as Hermione rushed to leave the Great Hall after being ambushed by the slimy Cormac McLaggen. Ron picked up his bag and hers as they left breakfast. "Harry and I have a free period, and I could, you know, hang out with you in the library after you're done."

He smiled in a way that immediately made her skeptical. Ron had been nice, almost  _too_ nice, to her since the start of school. It was almost to the point of suspicion, as she took the pre-offered bag from his hand. "That's nice of you to offer, Ronald, but I'll be fine." She did not notice the blush that stained his cheeks as she pulled her strap over her shoulder. "It'll pass." She waved around her. "I'm sure of it."

But it would not pass.

As the calendar counted down to her birthday, she denied at first that she was feeling ill at-ease. Besides, she only had a cold. She was fuzzy-headed and fatigued from a busy start to the term, she explained to her friends. Then exactly two days later, fatigue exacerbated into exhaustion, coupled with a low-grade fever.

It was then, she knew what was happening. She cursed the Founders, genetics, and even Professor Trelawney for what was occurring within her body. The day before her birthday, a Thursday, she awoke, too sick to attend classes. All the pepper-up potions in the world did little to combat this particular illness, and with her friends' encouragement, she stumbled to Madam Pomfrey's Hospital Wing seeking rest.

The evening of September 18th, she fell into feverish sleep, physically ill and mentally unprepared for what was to come. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion strong enough to put her under, but not strong enough to stop the physical transformation she knew was imminent.

She would not wake until Sunday, almost three days later.

After dragging her eyes open, the first thing she did was to pull her hands up to her face and examine them. She expected to see black talons in place of nails, but the hands she always knew greeted her: golden skin, a few freckles by her left thumb, a blot of ink on her right index.

Pushing to a sitting position, aside from a few aches from lying prone for so long, she felt alright. Looking down, the first thing she noticed was her hair.

Thick curls hung passed her chest, and brushed the tip of her stomach. That was certainly a change, but she was pleased to note that she hadn't lost her signature curl as she examined the thick locks. Underneath her hair, her breasts also hadn't changed much, but that change had occurred over the summer. They weighed the same in her hand as before. She had one moment to throw back the sheet, before she laughed at herself. The same lean legs greeted her as before. She hadn't sprouted into a tall Aphrodite over night.

On the nightstand beside her were several get-well cards, notes, and sweets from her friends. She reached for the closest with a smile on her face.

_Hermione,_

_Madam Pomfrey's threatened to kick us out for pestering you, but let us know when you've awaken. Hope everything's okay._

A multitude of signatures littered the bottom of the card. She recognized Neville's, Ron's, Harry's, and others. She placed the card down and picked up a folded letter next from the pile.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope this note finds you well. I was concerned with your birthday approaching. I hope you've now have the answers to the questions you were seeking. Please owl me as soon as you have the opportunity._

_I pray all is well._

_Narcissa_

If anything, Hermione had more questions than answers. Something had shifted within her. She knew it. She felt at ease for some inexplicable reason, when logically, she should have been nervous, anxious, or even scared about what had caused her to fall ill. But she felt calm, like peace had settled in her gut and wasn't moving anywhere anytime soon.

But how did it get there? What did it mean? Lowering Narcissa's note to her lap, her eyes slid to the table next to her. A piece of parchment stuck out from beneath the pile of cards and gifts. Instinctually, she reached for it and opened it.

_I stopped by to see if you really had studied yourself into a coma. Do try harder next time._

_-D_

Hermione wanted to see him.

As she read the words, it was the first thought that entered her mind. Pulling back the covers, she hesitantly stood to her feet. So far, so good. She wasn't in pain as she slipped into a warm robe and slippers. She felt awake, refreshed, and alert, which again, logical Hermione knew should be impossible after not eating, nor drinking anything for three days.

She grabbed the goblet of water on the night table and quickly swallowed the contents before deciding it was time to leave.

The castle was quiet that Sunday morning as most of its occupants slept. She used that to her advantage to slip out of the Hospital Wing unnoticed. Madam Pomfrey had probably left to fetch her breakfast.

Her feet led her down the stairs, out the castle, and on a path towards the Great Lake. Logical Hermione also knew this was abnormal, but her sense of center, the peace in her gut, told her she was heading in the right direction.

And so she walked, until she came to the crest of a hill and saw pale, blond hair sitting on an outcropping of rocks below. It was then that she  _knew_  as the sense of peace in her gut expanded and grew.

A hand lifted to her mouth in shock.

Draco Malfoy, her betrothed, her  _mate_ , sat by the Great Lake eating an apple.

"It was always him," she whispered in shock, the absolutely last to know. From their first encounter on Hogwarts' Express, to the Yule Ball, to him informing her of her true parentage, to their parents' arrangement: it had always been him. The calming presence within her agreed. She stared at him unnoticed, before continuing down the hill in slipper-coated feet.

She cleared her throat twice before she could speak.

"Draco," she called clearly as she neared. She took note of his pale demeanor and was instantly concerned. The being within her center also grew worried.

"Hermione," he spoke facing the lake. He had not turned around, though he recognized her voice.

Sitting down beside him, she wanted to tell him she had received his note, knew he had stopped by to check on her, but she let the moment slide. There were so many things she wanted to say to him.

But he seemed troubled, and likewise, the being within grew agitated. This was so confusing. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she gently asked, "Can't sleep?" It was too early for him, or anyone else, to be out here. And by the slight blue tinge to his lips, he must have been out there for a while.

"Yeah." He sounded despondent.

Unsure what to say next, she offered, "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

He finally turned to face her. She was expecting shock at her outward appearance. Her hair had changed afterall; perhaps other things would seem different to him as well. But he took in her concerned frown, before turning back to the lake. "Sure." After a moment of content silence, he asked, "Still a secret, then?" as he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

Now there was a loaded question: did he mean their betrothal or that she was part-Veela and he was her mate?

Swallowing the apprehension, she nodded hoping it came across as nonchalance as she played with a piece of grass by her knee. "Yeah."

"Good," he announced to the morning air.

"Great," she blew curls out of her face as she sighed.

Except it wasn't. Neither wanted to acknowledge their betrothal and worst, there was little chance Draco Malfoy would accept being her mate. And no matter how much she knew about magical creature–and-mate law, she would not force such a decision onto him.

She sighed and lowered her head into hands. Life was about to get exceptionally harder... for the both of them.


	14. A Do-Over

After an internal debate that lasted until day before tryouts, Draco decided not to captain Slytherin's Quidditch team that year. The decision brought a rousing rebuttal from his dorm mates and former team mates alike, but he remained firm on the decision. There was simply not enough time this year, and besides, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

One of which included what his Godfather droned about as he stood before their Defense class, but Draco found his attention drawn elsewhere. Like to his Housemates' more interesting and lively discussion beside him.

"There's a weekend trip to Hogsmeade coming up," his dorm mate, Theo Nott whispered to Blaise Zabini. "I'll ask her to escort me during Study Hall this afternoon."

"As if she'll say yes to you, Nott," Blaise rolled his eyes at the lame attempt.

"Tempt a bookworm with the possibility of a new book, and she's bound to say yes," Theo smugly gave back, as if he were the only one to think of such a brilliant idea.

The term caught Draco's attention. There was only one bookworm he was aware of in their year.

"I heard Granger's already going steady with Weasley," Blaise countered back to Theo. Draco gagged to himself at the suggestion.

"That's what his sister wants you to believe," Theo whispered back.

"Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott, since you obviously know how to cast a non-verbal spell, please share how you mastered such an ability. No?" Their Defense professor asked as the two teens shook their heads. "Then I suggest you join the rest of the class on page 160," Severus Snape warned the Slytherins with a lifted brow before returning to the front of the class.

But as soon as he had moved away, the two picked up where they left off. All Slytherins knew they had two more warnings before Snape would start deducting points. He was a fellow Snake after all.

Draco butt into the middle of the conversation as it continued in hushed whispers. "You forget Granger's station now. She'll never settle for a  _Weasley_. She has more money than five pathetic generations of Weasleys combined," he sneered, wanting to put them in their place with the ultimate trump card. The fact was the rumor mill was aflame with Granger's love life bothered him to no end, but he would not divulge their betrothal if she was not ready. Her father was their Minister and he did not want to start  _that_  relationship off on the wrong foot, after all.

"Which coupled with her father's position, and rather pleasing debut into puberty, makes her the cream of the crop. Or hadn't you noticed, mate?" Theo smirked to the blond.

Draco frowned at them both, "Of course I've noticed." Any hot-blooded male had to be blind, deaf, or dumb not to notice Hermione's subtle, but noticeable shift in attractiveness. It was unexplainable, but she was suddenly more than what she had been before: more engaging, more striking, more mesmerizing. Apparently watching her reach for books on the selves of the library had become a favorite pass-time for males in their year. And wizards, Draco glanced between his two friends as prime examples, wizards were falling over themselves at a chance of a date.

The bloody chit had worked them all in a frenzy, and worse, she seemed not to notice the aftermath left in her wake. She turned down dates to Hogsmeade at mealtimes, and brushed off would-be suitors with a polite, but firm smile that had simpletons fawning over her even  _more_. The Boy-Wonder and Weasel acted as her personal bodyguards, but even Draco did not miss the lingering touches on her back as one red-headed sod led her through a throng of new worshippers. Most of the male population had been twitter-pated with his affianced.

It was enough to make Draco sick.

But he wouldn't dare name the feeling as envy. The fact that these fools drooled over a foregone conclusion was the only thing that kept him sane. With a steadying breath, Draco continued, "But like I said, Granger's head too far in a book to notice the obvious attempts. You'd had better luck with Greengrass or Parkinson," Draco tried to deflect attention from the popular bookworm.

"Mr. Malfoy," a voice drawled above them. All three looked up to see their Defense professor had returned to their desk. "Your classmates and I are riveted to learn what you Mr. Nott and Mr. Zabini have discovered. Please do not leave us waiting."

Draco inclined his head respectfully to his Godfather. "Nothing to share here, Professor."

Snape clipped, "Then I insist you three shut it, or it'll be detention this weekend." That had the boys casting their eyes downward, feigning chastisement. Once he moved sufficiently away, they promptly brought up the conversation again.

* * *

Draco lingered behind after class had dismissed, feigning interest in a set of dark artefacts near the class windows. His Godfather certainly had eclectic tastes.

"Since you are proficiently on your way in non-verbal spells, I gather there is something  _else_ on your mind?"

Predictably, Severus had appeared behind him as soon as the classroom had emptied.

Draco replaced the torturous looking instrument back on the shelf. "Everything is going swimmingly. Does he know?" he asked harmlessly, turning to face his black-clad professor and Godfather.

Severus regarded Draco quietly for a moment, before crossing his arms. "He is aware. He is loath to leave you to such an assignment alone."

"He thinks I would fail?" Draco sneered in disdain.

"He thinks you need assistance," Severus clarified.

Offended, Draco mirrored Severus' stance. Arms crossed, he countered, "And you agree with him?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

Haughtily, Draco replied, "Honestly, Severus. Your lack of faith wounds me. I'll show you both, then." Draco picked up his bag, signaling the conversation had come to a close. "Tell him that for me, will you?"

"And the offer of assistance?" Severus pressed, firmly.

"I'd had better luck recruiting Granger for the task," Draco sniffed.

Severus eyed his charge and Godson wearily, "And just how is Ms. Granger?"

Draco shrugged, looking away. "How should I bloody know?" he mumbled.

Severus pressed, "Since the entire schools believes you both to be eligible, I take it you have not gone public with your arrangement."

Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair. "It isn't by choice."

"By your choice, you mean?"

Shooting his Godfather a glare of warning, he amended, "I mean this conversation is over." Then he rather rudely made for the exit. "I'll be in touch on my progress. Good day, Severus," he called over his shoulder, making for the exit. He felt the eyes of his Godfather on his back the entire way.

* * *

By the end of October, Draco had reached his limit. His father said once that Malfoys did not inherently share well with others. Maybe it was something like that, or something else entirely he would not name, but he grew frustrated of Hermione's fans pursuing something that was effectively off-limits to him.

As usual, after Study Hall, she walked with the Weasel, who slobbered after her like a dog. She was oblivious, of course.

"Oi, a word?" He threw his head to his right, as their paths crossed. He indicated he needed a moment of privacy to the witch. Her eyes seem to widen at the harmless request, but the ever present and thick-headed Weasel did not receive the memo. " _Alone_ ," Draco emphasized to the simpleton.

Ron pulled on Hermione's elbow after she had taken a step towards him. "Come on, Hermione. The ferret can mind his own business."

"And the Weasel can mind his own!" he sneered. "Unlike you, Hermione and I have important matters to discuss." Draco relished the look of contempt that spread in Weasley's vacant blue eyes at his use of her given name.

"What the …"

Hermione seemed to shake out of her trance as she turned to her friend. "It's probably family business or the other. I'll meet up with you in the library?"

"But…" Ron started.

"She said, 'leave', Weaselbee," he pointed out the obvious. "Although I hardly expect you to pick up on subtleties."

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "Draco, stop," she warned as he zeroed in on the contact on his sleeve. Something warm penetrated beneath his Oxford shirt, as he sneered once more to Weasley before grabbing Granger's elbow, leading them down an empty hallway.

They walked until they were sufficiently alone, before he spoke. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he began, "You need to get better control of your fans."

"My fans?" she blinked, confusion evident in her eyes.

Draco looked away, feeling his heart start to race as a fuzziness began to envelop him. What was wrong with him? "I don't know if you're aware, but half the school wants to get close to you because of your father's position, and the other half wants to shag you. It's entirely improper," he finished.

A rosy bloom spread from her nose down to her neck. Perfect pink lips bowed in confusion. She looked to the floor before taking a deep breath. "And you're aware of this how?"

Draco chuckled as he looked back at her. "You can't walk down the corridor without hearing about it. The whole school is fixed on who will escort you to Hogsmeade this weekend."

She lifted honey-colored eyes to his and something in his chest caught. It was enough to make him bite his lip. He looked away so she wouldn't see his physical reaction, but he caught her reply nonetheless.

"I don't want to go with anyone to Hogsmeade."

Unable to respond, he nodded. "Good. I don't want wizards getting ideas about my fiancée." He tried for humor, as tension grew between them.

He chanced a look to find her lifting her gaze to a point over his shoulder, no doubt searching to see if anyone was eavesdropping.

Slowly, she pulled her gaze back to him. He could tell she wrestled with something as she opened her mouth to amend her earlier statement, "Well, there is one whose company I suppose I could tolerate." She wet her lips, whether by accident or purposefully, but it succeeded in drawing his attention to her plump mouth. His mouth went dry as his heart thundered against his chest; it had to be loud enough that she could hear it.

Damn, the rumors were true.

Hermione had him worked up over a single look. Positive he would be fantasizing about her mouth that night, he gave her a languid half-smile as he tried to demure, "Why, Hermione? Are you asking me on a date?"

She bit her lip and swallowed, nervously playing with the hem of her skirt. "That is… that is, if you want to, of course. And if you don't already have plans," she rushed out, bravely holding onto his gaze. The blush now stained her neck red.

"Ready to scandalize the populace even further?" he teased with a wiggle of his brow. He stayed put, though he wanted to move a closer to her, inexplicably drawn to petite witch.

Something was different about her.

Pursing her lips, she frowned and crossed her arms, clearly agitated, but still charming enough to amuse. "It's not a date, Malfoy," she reverted to his surname whenever she grew upset or frustration with him. He grew further amused that he knew her well enough to spot the difference.

Deciding to cut her some slack, he agreed, "Of course, it isn't. I'll meet you in the courtyard at 4pm this Saturday."

She tucked a curl behind her ear and smiled at him; the blush he favored made an appearance once more.

"Fine. See you at 4pm," she agreed.

They stared at the other for the space of three heartbeats before picking up their satchels and walking off in the opposite direction.

He resisted looking over his shoulder as he walked away, but made it half way down the hallway before turning to watch her walk away. He quickly turned back after catching a generous view of her arse and lean legs. Bloody hell, Theo had been right.

Most pleasing entrance into puberty, indeed.

* * *

Just because it wasn't technically a 'date' did not mean Draco would dress any other way. He had not been raised that way. His roommates watched as readied himself with a dapper navy blue button up, a wool jacket, and spiffy black trousers. They continuously peppered him with questions, but he was content to leave them in the dark as he readied himself for the afternoon. He knew they would hear from the rumor mill as he grabbed his scarf and gloves.

Which was completely fine by him.

Draco excelled in confidence in part thanks to an ever-doting mother, and a father who reared him with absolute privilege. And so, it was with all the confidence in the world that he made his way through the lingering students not old enough to visit the local village.

But nearly seventeen years of confidence flew went out the door the moment he approached Granger sitting by the stone fountain. Gone were the non-descript Muggle jeans and ugly sweaters she had been fond of in prior years, and before him stood Narcissa Malfoy's goddaughter. His mother had obviously taught the witch a thing or two while in France, because she looked like breathtaking vision. And she hadn't even turned around yet.

Hermione's hair had been brushed into loose waves and shone, perfectly reflecting the orange-red hues of the setting sun. She wore a deep emerald trench coat; a loose black knit sweater peeked from underneath. Black tights disappeared into comfortable, stylish flats that had him slowing his gait to appreciate the view from behind.

Like always, she sat reading a book unaware of the looks student threw her way as they passed her by in the courtyard.

He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry again, as he coughed behind her. She looked over her shoulder to find him waiting.

Swallowing audibly as she turned, Draco was suddenly hit with a floral aroma that left him weak in the knees. Instinctually, he stepped forward to offer her a hand as she stowed her book.

Pleased and somewhat flustered, she accepted his gloved hand and stood to her feet. Warmth again radiated from her light touch through the confines of his glove. Decorum dictated that he tuck her hand underneath his arm. He was unsure how she would react, but if she was uncomfortable with the contact, he could not tell as he led the out of the courtyard.

"People are staring," she whispered, leaning into him.

He looked down at her, unaware of their growing audience. "Then, let them stare," he found himself saying.

The initial crowds had already made their way down to the village, and he did his best to distract her as they made their way to High Street proper. The poor thing was still uncomfortable with all the attention she attracted.

"Have you heard from your father?" he asked to distract her.

She turned from window-gazing to address him. "I have. There are things he cannot share with me via Post, but it has become increasingly dangerous outside of Hogwarts. I heard from your mother as well."

He was not surprised to hear that. "Oh, really? Did she send you a package full of sweets like she did me?" he winked at her, which caused her to laugh.

Nodding, she confirmed, "She did! It was very kind of her."

"Meddle into your business much?" Draco asked knowing his mother.

Hermione shook her head. "She wrote to wish me a happy birthday and to see how I was faring," she left the sentence hanging, as if there was more to the sentence.

He would have pressed but they had reached the entrance of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. She went straight to the front desk while he browsed the aisles. The shopkeeper dashed to the back before emerging with a wrapped package, to which Hermione paid for and slipped into her coat pocket. Once he had completed his purchase, they exited the store. He guided them to Honeydukes next.

She looked at the vibrant storefront confused. "I'm positive if your mother sent you what she sent me, then you won't need another piece of candy for the entire year."

"Nonsense," he replied, opening the door for her. "You can never have enough chocolate." He followed behind as she entered.

Hermione trailed behind him as he picked out his favorites. She declined when he offered a sample to her. "Come on, Granger. Who doesn't like chocolate?" he teased.

"My adopted parents are dentists! I couldn't possibly," she waved away the pre-offered treat before being taken in by the newest display, "But mints, however." She smiled broadly at the newest assortment of spearmints, peppermints, and cinnamon mints.

Draco came up behind her with a scoop in each hand. "Then by all means…" He began scooping generous handfuls into a pail.

"Draco, really!" she laughed at his antics. Then she tugged at his arm as he scooped more than a generous helping. "Really, that is enough. Eww, not the wintermint!" She halted him as he moved onto the next bucket of mints. Before long, the two teens checked out with his ridiculously large store of chocolate and her ridiculously large store of mints.

"What is a 'Yoller' mint?" she asked, inspecting the wrapping of a brown and white-striped candy curiously.

Draco shrugged on the bench they shared, fist deep within his own stash. "Dunno. Oh here, taste this. It's chocolate and mint together." He held the piece of candy up to her lips. Surprised, he watched as she leaned forward and took the pre-offered sweet with her mouth, rather than taking it by hand. The tips of his fingers grazed the gloss on her lips as electricity shot through his arm and straight to his groin.

He had a moment to watch her eyes flutter shut in bliss as she savored the sweet. "Oh, that's heavenly," she moaned. The hood of his eyes lowered – was the little minx teasing him on purpose? She opened her eyes to fix him with a faux-heated glare. "Don't you dare tell my parents."

Oh, now she had to be teasing him.

His gaze dropped to her mouth as she caught a smidge of chocolate on her lip with her tongue. Fuck, he was thinking about her mouth again and all the things that could be done with her tongue.

Forcing his gaze down to his bag, and away from her delectable mouth, Draco cleared his throat not trying to think what Granger found 'heavenly', and the way her perfect bow-shaped mouth moaned in delight. He swallowed thickly, "So, uhh, do Potter and Weasley know you've escaped their protective clutches?"

She licked her teeth clean of any remaining chocolate before she answered him. "Harry is with Ginny at Madam Rosemerta's and Ron is, well, he's practicing at the pitch."

Draco took note of her uncomfortableness. "He doesn't know you're here with me," he replied for her.

She shifted in her seat. "Actually, he does."

His eyes narrowed. "Ahh, I see. Lover's quarrel, then."

Hermione seethed and crossed her arms. The sun had set and with the night air, came a frosty October chill. "He's  _not_  my lover," she stressed. "I've heard the rumors about me and him, but they are not true. You, of all people, should know that." She caught his eyes with meaning.

Draco popped another chocolate into his mouth as he regarded her. "Does  _he_  know that?"

Hermione groaned. "If he hasn't received the message by now, then I don't know how else to proceed." She sat back on the bench, sighing in frustration.

"You could always tell him the truth," he said simply.

Something in her eyes flashed the moment he mentioned the word 'truth'. She shifted again as her eyes tracked over his face, searching for something he did not know. Feeling as if he were taking a test he had not studied for, he let her read the honesty all over his face. Which was not something he did often.

Draco sat back on the bench with her. Neither one moved their shoulders as they touched. "Though, he's a tad thick-headed. It may take a couple of tries. Merlin, it's like talking to a wall."

She couldn't help but to defend her friend. She was loyal to a fault, he would give her that. "He's just trying to be nice. An unfamiliar concept, I'm sure," she stated meaningfully as she playfully shoved her shoulder into his.

He shoved her back. "I can be nice." To prove said point, he pulled his scarf and gloves from his pockets now warm with his body heat. He placed the scarf around her neck and helped her into the gloves that dwarfed her smaller, cold hands. "Brightest witch of her age forget her winter gear?" he chided.

She blushed and adjusted his scarf around her neck. "To be honest, I thought we wouldn't be out here this long."

He arched a brow at her. "Why?"

"Well, past behavior indicates you would have done something completely infuriating by now…" she began.

"To which you wholly deserved, I'm sure…" he deadpanned.

"And one of us would've likely stormed off in a fit," she finished, interlocking her now-gloved hands.

He tsk-ed her again, "Shows how much you know."

"I guess you're right." She bit her lip, before suddenly offering an outstretched hand. He stared at it until she indicated she wanted him to shake it. "A do-over?" she proposed.

Eyes narrowed, Draco decided Hermione Granger was the most fascinating and confusing witch he had ever met. Both stared at each other for a moment, until he took her hand. But instead of shaking it as she was accustomed to, he turned it over and placed a feather light kiss on the leather that covered her knuckle. "A do-over," he agreed.

They were silent as they allowed the strange, but familiar moment to pass. It was one of those moments Draco knew in his gut he would never forget. Like the day he first rode a broom, or the day he first came to Hogwarts, the memory of him sitting on a bench on High Street placing a chaste kiss to Hermione's hand felt like the small ripple that would grow into a wave.

Draco scratched his head at how he could make the moment last. He wasn't ready for this night to end, just yet. "So, would you care for some hot cocoa?" he offered sincerely.

The witch smiled and stood from the bench, also content to make the moment last just a bit more. "Why, Draco. How  _nice_  of you to offer."


	15. Perfidy & Prose

After their 'non-date' to Hogsmeade, it was the little things Hermione's friends started to notice. Like the way Draco waited for her outside of classes he did not share with her, or the way Pansy pitched an epic fit over breakfast one day as Draco lazily dumped the witch in front of their House. Though Hermione would never tell anyone, she had been secretly pleased with the display as she sipped her morning coffee and nibbled on a slice of toast three tables over. The school started gossiping about their supposed coupledom two days later. The rumors weren't exactly true, but neither she nor he said anything to deny it.

It was the major changes, however, Hermione dissected in her mind. Like the erratic way her heart jumped and sputtered when Draco would give her a wicked smile as they walked in the hallways, or the way an itch seemed to be ever present between her shoulder blades, or the way he would dazzle with a chaste kiss to the knuckles, as she were a dessert he wanted to savor.

She couldn't tell if his reactions were genuine or a by-product of her Veela inheritance, which worked in overtime to seduce her mate, much to her displeasure. They were walking to a favored spot as of late, the shores of the Great Lake, when she experimented with the pheromones she recently gained control of. It was purely research she told herself, as she sighed beside the blond.

Glancing out of the corner of her side, Hermione had not been expecting Draco to lick his lips, which caused her heart to stitch in return. A hand found its way to the small of her back in response.

Oh, Merlin.

Warmth spread from her lower back as something within her purred in content. This could be interesting; but Hermione was, if anything, practical as she worried her lower lip. She did not want Draco falling for Veela charms and hormones. She wanted him to care for who she was truly, and not for the lust she could pull out of him. She reign the pheromones back in as they approached the lake.

For now, she was content to be in his presence. She would work harder to stay the being within, who wanted nothing more than to claim her mate.

She mimicked his movement and placed her bag on the ground besides his. "Why are we here again?" she asked, slightly annoyed. "We both need to get a start on the essay for Potions."

Draco loosened his cloak and cast a warming charm over them. "That essay is due in December."

"Along with three other assignments," she argued back. She didn't like feeling out of control, and taking time off her assignment schedule made for a stressed witch.

Draco gave her a smirk and a wink. "Pity, you have another assignment that demands your attention first."

"Excuse me?" She smiled back, content to skivv off this once, as she crossed her arms.

"I don't blame your father," he began. "He's busy with the Ministry and the war, and I know your friends couldn't possibly possess the proper knowledge."

Confused, she sought clarity, "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Draco tsked, "You're sorely lacking proficiency in all things pureblood-related. It's about time someone taught you the finer things in our world."

That made her laugh. "And I suppose you'll be the one to teach me, then?"

He shrugged. "Someone has to."

Sighing, she pressed, "What on earth for? I hardly see such tutelage as useful."

Haughtily, he replied, "As if my fiancée would be anything but gifted in pureblood particulars?" His use of the possessive made her heart flutter. "Come now, Granger, I thought you knew better."

She somewhat recovered and emphasized, "Your  _fiancée_  would rather focus on more important things."

His hand pushed against her lower back, and she swiftly lost her train of thought.

"Come on, it'll be fun," he teased to the shell of her ear.

He taught her through Halloween, and all of November. Sometimes they would meet outside, sometimes in the Room of Requirement. But Hermione had to admit, Draco was an excellent teacher. She hated that was a need to learn whom to address first when entering a room, how a proper witch should dress, or act, but she sought to understand it for Draco's sake, and for her father's, too. She kept coming back to her discussion with Kingsley before the start of the school year. Had it not been for the attack, she would have grown with this knowledge already and would have accepted it as her lot in life. And in time, she began to see the utility of subtly changing their world from the inside, rather than burning it down from the outside. Draco shared the inner workings of the Sacred Twenty Eight; she could never receive this information from a book. And bit by bit, she committed his teachings to memory, should there ever be a test on the subject.

There was one area, however, she still struggled in.

"Again," Draco ordered as he observed her from his place on a log a few feet away. They met in their usual spot by the lake. "You shouldn't wobble like a hippogriff, Granger."

Hermione scowled as she rubbed her sore ankles in the transfigured shoes, "I'm sorry, are we meeting royalty soon?" Her sensible Mary Janes had been transfigured into pointy-heeled shoes of death; her feet were on fire as she balanced among the uneven rocks that lined the shore. Draco chose the shore stating that if she learned to balance among the rocks, she could maintain her balance anywhere.

"I hardly expect my fiancée not know how to curtsy properly," he drawled, motioning for her to curtsy again.

Hermione rolled her eyes and exaggerated her next curtsy. "Is this better, good sir?" she mocked as she placed the toe of her right foot behind her left leg, centered herself, and lowered along her knee; she spread her hands in embellishment. Slowly, she raised back up, but blasted heels made her lose her balance once more. She groaned in frustration.

Draco stood from the log and circled around her. He lined up behind her and placed a light hand on her hip. The warmth of his chest pressed against her back as he used his free hand to lift the underside of her chin. "Again," his breath tickled her curls. "Your chin should remain level, your hands pleasantly at your side."

Hermione leaned into him, keenly aware of minimal space that separated them. She couldn't help the shakiness in her voice as she tried to reply, "I knew your lot was antiquated, though I underestimated by how much."

Draco chuckled behind her; she could feel the low rumble on her back. There went that annoying itch between her shoulder blades again as she tried to roll her shoulder to smooth the itch away. His voice lowered, "Antiquated maybe, but you catch more flies with honey, Granger. Remember that." A finger pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. She shivered at the light touch. "There's a reason why pureblood witches can run roughshod over any man she chooses."

Unbelievably, she turned her head over her shoulder. "Really?"

Draco's mouth hovered just above her nose. She could smell the chocolate and mint on his breath. "Truly," he answered. "Every wizard worth his weight in gold looks for a witch who reminds him of her mother, or his governess."

Hermione started again and this time, curtsied without wobbling. She noticed Draco did not move his hand from her hip. Not that she wanted him to. "And you, good sir?" She put on her poshest accent. "Who are you looking for?"

"No one at the moment."

"Not  _one_  thing?" Her lips twisted in disbelief as she returned both feet to the ground. Turning in her heels, she found him chuckling at her. She tempered the flash of uncharacteristic jealousy and blushed fiercely.

Tracking the blush across her cheeks, Draco fixed her with a stare that made her breath catch. "Well, there has been this witch..." A corner of his mouth lifted as he closed the distance between them, his hands pulled from his pockets to …

"Oi! Hermione!" Ron's shout broke the two teens apart.

Draco cursed under his breath, "Bloody hell!"

He did not move away as Hermione answered her friend, a bit flustered. "Yes?"

Ron looked at the close space between Hermione and Draco with narrowed eyes before replying, "Harry and I finished practice. You said you would meet us in the library for help on our essay."

"For bloody sakes, you and Potter can't figure it out on your own?!" Draco growled above her.

Hermione turned to Draco, the disappointment clear on both of their faces. "Rain check?" she asked with a timid smile.

Draco pushed his tongue between his teeth, clearly as frustrated as she, and nodded. He ignored Ron as he excused himself, grabbed his bag, and left. It hurt to watch him go, almost to the point of pain.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione transfigured her heels back into her Mary Janes and walked with Ron to the castle. Every few steps, she turned to glance over her shoulder, seeking out a blond head moving further away.

"Say, Hermione?" Ron asked as they made their way inside the castle.

Distracted by where the almost-moment could have ended up, she replied, "Yes?"

Ron was uncharacteristically quiet for a beat, which managed to draw her complete attention. He was fidgety, his neck aflame, as he scratched the back of his neck. Something within her stomach instantly soured. "I've been speaking with Ginny lately… you know how she and Harry are."

Hermione smiled at the recent memory of her friend and Ron's sister at Madam Rosemerta's, sitting together, very much immersed in the other. "Yes, they seem to be getting on well."

"Yeah. They do. The thing is … she told me something recently. And I figured what was the point of dragging things out any longer, you know?"

Hermione paused in the hallway, eyes sliding to her friend. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Well, we," Ron indicated to himself, then to her, "always seemed to get on well."

Hermione raised a brow at that. "We're friends, yes," she clarified.

Ron swallowed and she shrank away, immediately sensing where this was heading. "Have you ever thought about being more than friends?" he suggested cautiously.

_No_. "Well…" she trailed and looked away, stalling for Harry, Neville, or anyone to come around the corner and save her.

"The thing is," Ron continued. "I have. Ginny says with the war coming, it's imperative that we stick together more than ever."

Hermione turned her gaze back to him, giving up hope of an intervention. "I don't see how the war has anything to do with it."

"I mean, the Order and Dumbledore's Army. It makes sense for Harry and Ginny to be together, just like it makes sense for you and me."

She blinked, reading between the lines, "… As opposed to me and Draco, you mean?"

Ron sighed, "People are starting to talk, Hermione."

As if she cared about the rumors that constantly followed her, she waved the concern away. "People have been fascinated with my life since my heritage came to light."

Ron scratched his neck at that. "And that's why it's imperative for you make the right choice."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry?" He could not mean what she thought he did.

"Your father is the bloody Minister for Magic. Malfoy's father is a Death Eater," he said as if it made absolute sense. But had she learned that life, friendship, and families were complicated. Not everything came simply as in black and white.

"That doesn't make Draco a Death Eater, Ronald!"

"Give me a break, Hermione! His entire family is sympathetic to you-know-who's cause. Always has been." He crossed his arms. "It's 'bout time you made a decision on where you stand."

"As if the decision hadn't been more clear!" She stepped away from Ron in disgust. "Do you honestly believe I'd switch my loyalty from Harry? After everything we've been through!?"

"It's hard to tell with how you've been carrying on lately. Everywhere I look, it's you and Malfoy," Ron sulked as the conversation rapidly diverted away from his original intentions.

"That's because we've been promised to one another, you dolt!" she shouted at him. She wanted to whack him with the heaviest book in her bag to drive the point home. "His father and mine made an arrangement when we were infants. Draco and I are just coming to terms with it ourselves, before we decided to share with our friends. There's a reason he broke it off with Pansy Parkinson. There's a reason he's been escorting me to classes."

Ron looked peak-ish. "Bloody hell!" He ran a hand through untidy red hair as he whispered to himself, "Then Gin did all of this for nothing."

Now Hermione was perplexed. "Did what?"

Ron gulped as he backed away. He held up his hands in surrender, and that was never a good sign. "You have to understand," Ron implored. "She thought it made the most sense."

Hermione's wand lowered into her hand in warning. " _What_ , Ronald, made the most sense?" she clipped dangerously, her wand tapping against her knee.

Dejected, Ron knew he was trapped as she backed him into the wall. "Gin wrote Mum a letter when you told us you were a Shacklebolt. Said it made perfect sense with our families fighting in the Order. Said you would see how loyal we were to you, and always had been from the start, if we played it right…" He trailed off in a whimper when her wand found its way to his chest.

"You mean to tell me, Ginny and Molly, went to the  _Prophet_?" she cried between clenched teeth.

"I didn't know she did at the time, I swear! I had my suspicions, but it wasn't until I forced it out of her a bit after your birthday."

Hermione dropped her wand and backed away from him. "You knew about this for two months? Who else knows? Who else, Ronald?!"

He shook his head to drive the point home. "No one, I swear. But Hermione, you have to know, what I said earlier is true. I care about you, a lot."

"As if I believe that!" she harrumphed indignantly.

"Well, it's bloody true if you'd shut up and listen for once!"

She smacked him. The anger and betrayal found its way to her hand and she laid it across his cheek. His head turned with the force of her slap. "How can I ever trust you and your family again? I told you both something in confidence and was then was exposed in the  _Prophet_  soon after. Kingsley and I were blind sighted, betrayed by the people we thought we could trust." Anger made her magic dangerous as she felt her wand arm itch with need.

With one hand on his smarting cheek, Ron reached forward to grab the arm not holding her wand. She shook him loose, hating that tears gathered in her eyes. " **Don't**!" she warned. "Don't think you can claim ignorance now. You knew back in September."

His shoulders slumped, but he pressed on, "I'm sorry, okay?"

Hermione shook her head, bravely holding back tears. If she hadn't been friends with him since first-year she would have ended the friendship right there. "Leave me alone." She turned and walked away. "I can't speak with you, right now. You can explain to Harry why I won't be joining you in the library."

Instead of heading to the library or her dorm, Hermione headed straight for the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor. She felt used, and dirty. Every time the conversation with Ron replayed itself in her head, she grew angrier. Her hands itched to do something, but she knew it was best to calm down before she did something rash.

Finding the exclusive bathroom empty, she quickly set the water in the expansive jeweled tub to her preferred temperature and stripped off her school uniform. The annoying itch she had felt earlier with Draco was back with a vengeance as she slipped under the hot water. She emerged hoping the water would soothe the knots in her tired muscles. Lazily, she played with the bubbles, washed her hair, and generally soaked until she was a prune as she forced her mind to go blank. She floated in the large bath, and closed her eyes. Looking deep within, she could feel the being of peace: she wanted out, she wanted Draco.

Hermione opened her eyes on a smile as the hot water worked wonders on her back. She wanted Draco, too, she admitted to the being. It wasn't hard to see why her Veela had chosen Draco as its mate. He was intelligent, wickedly handsome, and just as stubborn as she. She had teased his refined, polished manor as antiquated, but something as simple as kissing her knuckles or offering his arm when they walked was enough to make her swoon.

But what was even more telling, was that he was purposefully taking things slow for her benefit. Other than a well-placed touch or two to her hip, or her back, Draco did not move as fast as he did with other witches. Maybe because he knew this was different. It made her feel special, as she smiled to herself.

He was killing her softly with polite kindness as she sunk under the water, utterly spellbound by thoughts of her mate.

She emerged to the surface, thoughts solely on Draco, and not on Ginny's betrayal – quite confident that would sort itself out on its own. She exited the tub and reached for her towel, just as another prefect came into the room. Perfect timing, she was perfectly relaxed and ready for a long nap.

Hermione wrapped the towel high around her chest. "I'm leaving now," she called, as she wrapped a second towel around her head to contain her wet curls.

"Oh, Hermione!" Padma Patil exclaimed behind her. "Your tattoo is beautiful. When did you get it?"

Hermione whirled to find the Ravenclaw approaching her partially-covered back. "What?"

"Does it extend all the way?" the witch peered around as she tried to peek beneath Hermione's towel.

Hermione pulled her towel closer to her body, cutting off access to the other prefect. Her mouth opened and closed, unsure what to say. "I'm sorry, but I need to use the loo," she backed away, before hurrying to the girls' lavatory. Finding her bag, she took out a small book and quickly transfigured it to a hand-held mirror.

Standing before the large mirror witches used to preen themselves, Hermione turned around and let the towel drop. She angled the hand-held mirror until… she saw it.

She gasped at the sight.

From the tips of her shoulder blades, to down and across the expanse of her back sat the most intricate tattoo: a folded set of wings. The folded wings fluttered like a butterfly, free of its cocoon, all the way to the small of her back before feathered tips graced the top of her bum. The feathers were a translucent white, outlined in silver. They shivered across her back as if they were real and ready for use.

With her free hand, she reached around her waist to touch the tattoo, but all she could feel was damp skin. Even though the tattoo moved as if a living thing, the wings were elegantly tattooed onto her skin, and perfectly tailored to fit her back. She watched in the mirror as the feathers ruffled and stretched. It was like a magical portrait had been painted on her back.

That was certainly interesting.

Facing the larger the mirror, Hermione noted the tips of the winged-tattoo could be seen above her clavicle. She made a note to be mindful of dressing in the morning to avoid additional questioning.

As she re-dressed into her school uniform, she figured that must had been the annoying itch between her shoulder blades. Her new tattoo had been etching itself onto her person. But what did it mean? Was it a part of her Veela inheritance?

Walking back to Gryffindor tower in thought, Hermione wagered if she should write her Aunt. Apolline could surely shed light on this new development.

Hermione mentally tabulated a list of questions she would first research, and then later write to Apolline. She might even write Narcissa, as she passed through Gryffindor's portrait door and straight into the frenzy within the common room.

Hermione continued to her room working theories in her head, oblivious to a shocked Ron and a stunned Harry as they surrounded an upset Ginny. Neville painted a hilarious picture, as he tried to hide a smile behind his hand. Dean and Seamus backed away from Ginny, as if her condition were contagious.

Wrapped in her thoughts, Hermione glided around them all, dimly aware of the din they made. She deftly ignored Ron's pleas as she ascended the staircase to the girls' dorms, completely unbothered.

Ron ought to have known that Hermione still maintained the jinxed-parchment she'd made them sign in fifth year. And so what, if she did not inform them that the jinx would not discriminate between one betrayal and the next.

Ginny had betrayed her.

The boils that spelled 'SNEAK' across her forehead would remain until she showed remorse. Hermione smirked to herself as she heard the feisty red-head bellow up the stairs after her.

" **HERMIONE**!"


	16. What is Needed

t wasn't often the three Slytherins found themselves in each other's presence. They struck an opposing sight as they entered the Muggle establishment, one after the other. The Minister for Magic arrived last, sans his Auror guard, and slid into the semi-circular booth across from his former housemates. "Evening, Narcissa, Severus," he greeted them.

Narcissa lowered the hood of her cloak to reveal an intricate up-do. "It is good to see you, Kingsley. IYou haven't visited Crestmoor since this summer," the Malfoy matriarch feigned offense.

Kingsley replied with little need to embellish, "Narcissa, I would love to spend days in your garden as opposed to the bores in the Wizengamot. I see the summer air is treating you well. Besides, I am here, am I not? Do you know how difficult it was to slip past my detail for this little rendezvous?"

"Oh, I've read all about the Wizengamot's latest activities," Narcissa did not mask her disgust. "I read in the paper how the latest decree allows seventeen-year-olds to join the Auror program. How could they, Kingsley, they are just children!"

Severus replied from his place in between them, "Some of my seventh years and sixth years have already planned to enroll once the school year has ended."

"And as their professor, do you feel they possess the capability and proficiency to duel seasoned wizards?" Narcissa grilled.

Severus shrugged, "That is for the Auror program to decide, but the Dark Lord is keen to make an example of the Ministry's folly, I'm sure."

Kingsley sighed, feeling stuck in between, "Personally, I wasn't for the measure, but how could I deny my former colleagues the opportunity? The Auror program is drastically under-resourced. Alabaster feels he can effectively recruit and train the new crop to meet the war efforts' demands. And I can't deny that it in is sync with the Ministry's overall strategy to deal with this uprising."

"Speaking of efforts and strategic planning…" Severus started. He paused as a waitress set a tray of three mugs before them.

"I gathered that is why we are meeting at a Muggle pub, as opposed to somewhere in our world?" Kingsley asked, once the waitress had left.

"It is. I gathered Narcissa has owled you the generalities?" Severus asked to Kingsley.

The Minister nodded his head to Narcissa. "She was vague, but I believe I got the point. Are you sure this is wise?"

"Even  _I_  know the answer to that," Narcissa scoffed. "I grew livid with Severus when he informed me about this ridiculous undertaking, and remain cross to this daya."

"Is everything going well?" Kingsley pried, careful not to reveal too much. One could never be sure who was listening.

"It would be better if you did not know," Severus took a sip from his mug before continuing, "Though, there is one matter you should probably be aware of."

Kingsley sat back in foreboding. "Yes?" he asked slowly, glancing between the two. Narcissa looked worried, and Severus remained blank. But even he had a tell. The Potions professor traced a single finger around the rim of his mug, and replied, "Your daughter."

Kingsley's brows dropped in concern. "Is she alright?"

Severus frowned, "She and Draco continue to sickeningly carry on. It's revolting, but, nevertheless, she is fine."

Narcissa picked up for him, impatient, "It's Draco. You see, he's been given this task."

"An impossible task," Severus interjected.

Narcissa nodded in agreement. "A task that is only known by a select few."

"Does Dumbledore know about this?" Kingsley asked, disturbed at what was being discussed.

Narcissa nodded. "I'm afraid he does."

"He does not believe Draco can carry it out on his own," Severus took a generous sip of his drink. "I'm inclined to believe him."

"What is this 'task'?" Kingsley pried carefully. Narcissa and Severus shared a heavy look, to which Kingsley frowned. "Let me guess, it's better for me not to know that as well?"

Narcissa reached across the table and placed her gloved hand over a fist that had balled in frustration. "It's not for wanting to keep secrets, you must know that," she explained. "There are some things that you, as Minister, just cannot be aware of."

"Because I am Minister, I am aware of a great deal of things!" he argued in a fierce whisper, ever careful not to raise his voice in the small establishment.

"But it is better not to know  _this_." Narcissa sighed, unsure how to carry on, "I can't be certain how much Draco has shared with Hermione…"

"For what he tells me, she is unaware as well," Severus supplied.

"Then why am I here?" Kingsley interrupted them. "You cannot tell me this task." Exasperated, he huffed, "What do you expect me to do?"

Severus leaned forward. "I will be frank. Draco will need assistance, and I fear for his success, which is key to many pieces, already set in motion. Dumbledore will not say it aloud, for he doesn't want to see himself as responsible, but I know better. Your daughter is the key to Draco's success."

"You want Emmeline to assist Draco in a task, which I know nothing about?"

Severus clarified, "We want you to write her and encourage her to be open to Draco's call for help should he ask. For my part, I will work to persuade Draco to seek your daughter's assistance."

Narcissa squeezed Kingsley's hand and implored, "Please, my son's life hangs in the balance."

"More than your son's life, to be sure," Severus replied with foreboding.

Kingsley eyed the pair with grave concern. "A matter of life and death you say, and you want me to nudge my daughter into the thick of it? As a father, how could I possibly agree to something like this?"

"As a mother, how could I sit by and do nothing to help my son?" she countered just as equally. "And you forget Kingsley, that I care for Hermione as much as I care for my son. I wish no harm upon her, and it is why it doubly wounds me to ask such a thing."

"Perhaps, see this another way," Severus intervened between the two parents. "We both know Ms. Granger is predisposed to peril. It is a foregone conclusion, given her familiarity with Mr. Potter, that she will play a role in the war to come. It is a matter of when and how much, Kingsley. You know this. You saw it the night she ran off to the Ministry after Potter's delusions, and now that she is of age, I've no doubt it will happen again. I cannot give you the answers you seek tonight, but there are things in motion, that if not handled properly, will leave the Order and its efforts in disarray, I daresay by the end of the school year."

"What it is in motion, Severus? Narcissa? Give me something I can work with!" Kingsley argued back, hating to be left in the dark. "I agree with you about my daughter's tendencies. She is loyal to her friends. But I will not urge her willingly into a trap."

"Draco will need help. Help he will not take from me, or Severus, or anyone else, save maybe Hermione," Narcissa pleaded with rare tears in her eyes. "And if there is anyone intelligent and thoughtful enough I trust to see him through it, it is her. I trust her to see him through, to see the both of them through. Severus says they have grown close at school. And if this relationship is to flourish, they will need each other more and more. Especially with what is to come," she finished.

After that, Kingsley sat back and thought over the situation. Neither option seemed agreeable, but it seemed as if the two before him had exhausted every avenue if they had come to him with this plea. With a quick prayer to Marie to watch over the daughter, he sighed, "What is it you want me to do?"

* * *

_7 December 1997_

_My dearest Emme,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know my correspondence has been few and far between, and for that, I ask your forgiveness. I hear from Minerva and Albus often and though they tell me how you are faring in classes (I never doubted for a moment you could not handle the workload), they cannot expand on how you are_ _ really  _ _doing. Words on parchment can only convey so much, but I hope you are enjoying your time at school and the other students are treating you well. I know news of the war's encroaching corners on our world are a constant, but I pray you can find solace at Hogwarts before it overtakes us all._

_I also heard you and Draco are doing well. Narcissa reports that he has written home about you, a first for any witch, I'm told. I know you both share a difficult past, but I can honestly say it pleases me to hear of this latest development. I find the key to any relationship, friendship or otherwise, is honesty. Let it be the bedrock of any relationship you cultivate. I was with your mother for a short two years, but we made a promise to always be honest with the other. It made for a difficult period in the beginning, but it repaid us with a love unlike any other I had experienced then or now. But I digress. Enjoy the last few weeks of the term, and I will see you when the term dismisses.  
_

_Until then,_

_Your father,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Hermione folded the letter, coated with the Minister for Magic's seal, and added it to her collection of letters within her trunk. To be honest, she felt very guilty. She had not thought of her father, adopted parents, the Ministry, or anything else outside of school since the term began. Hogwarts had an uncanny way of making her feel cocooned from the outside world, though she tried to remain up to date with her  _Prophet_  subscription. And while the school had not been untouched from the tendrils of evil over the years, it was still easy to think of Hogwarts as generally safe. But Kingsley's letter brought the reality that awaited them all back to her mind.

The school was about to break for the winter holidays. Some students would return back to the Muggle world, others would remain on guard within the Wizarding world. The threat of attacks from Voldemort grew daily. Pushing away such thoughts for another time, she pulled out a cashmere sweater she favored ever since she had received it. She was reminded of the exquisite tastes her godmother possessed when the the maroon and gold sweater arrived as a birthday gift.

Dressing away from her roommates in the girls' lavatory, she quickly donned the sweater and pulled on a pair of Muggle jeans. The two pieces hardly matched (one was top of the line, and the other was comfortable and rather standard fare), but it would do for a Sunday. The entire school was either hunkered in the library or their dorms polishing final assignments and projects. Her diligent assignment planning had allowed her to take the morning off.

There was no one in the common room, still ravaged from a party the previous night, as she pushed through the portrait door. Her heart stitched as the door swung back to reveal Draco waiting outside. He was also drabbed in causal, but still impeccable, wear. She grew jealous at how someone could make wearing all black look so attractive.

Draco gave one of those dazzling smiles he saved just for her as he pushed off the wall. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she replied, equally unable to stop herself from smiling shyly. The two stared at each other for a moment, before he offered his arm, to which she eagerly took. Leisurely, they took their time as they made their way to the Great Hall. "Late night?" she wagered, immediately noticing the mark of sleeplessness about his eyes.

As the close of the term approached, there had been less and less time to see the other, but it was mutually understood that coursework came first. Something within her fought against the notion, but it was impossible to spend every waking moment together, no matter how much she pined to be by his side. He brought her a sense of calm like nothing else could. Not even  _Hogwarts, A History_! She leaned into his arm as he yawned.

"Yeah. I have this project. The answers have been alluding me." He squeezed her arm closer to him in jest. "Don't worry, I'll get it though."

Hermione resisted frowning. This was the third time he had met her completely exhausted after a late night. And the extra hours was not from any project she knew of – they had completed almost all of their work for the term already. But as she had two times before, she left the door open for Draco to fill her in, "Well, should you ever need help… Brightest-witch-and-all-that?"

He smiled and placed a kiss to the back of her hand, but would say nothing further.

They entered the Entrance Hall, and for a brief moment, Hermione met the gaggle of Gryffindors' stares head-on. Most of the table leered at her with contempt, namely the Weasleys and their friends; while Neville and Harry looked confounded and quite literally, stuck.

Draco steered her towards the Slytherin table where she had been dining the past week, if she ate in the Great Hall at all. Things had soured between her and her friends ever since the  _incident_. Apparently, Ron told everyone Hermione had been behind the hex that maimed his sister, but had conveniently left out the  _true_  reason why Ginny sported the branding. Hermione didn't know what ridiculous story Ron fed their House, but whatever it was, it had been enough to sour some of them against her. Thankfully a few, like Harry and Neville, didn't believe Ron and Ginny's lies, but they couldn't exactly call the duo out on it.

For all her courage and fondness for the truth, Hermione could not bring herself to out Harry's girlfriend. She would switch the subject whenever Harry tried to speak with her about it. She figured she could wait until things had cooled to tell him the truth, but knew when the moment came, the betrayal and pain would isolate Harry from his best friend even further. And she did not want to be the one to do that to Harry, not after everything he had gone through. So, that left Ron to own up to the truth, for Ginny seemed set in her fabrication of the events in question. Each day that passed without Ron telling Harry the truth left Hermione stewing in even more anger.

All of this left her with a icy, at best, atmosphere during meal times. Things at the table of lions had gotten so heated one day, that Draco came and plucked her from the table. In front of everyone, he escorted her and her plate across the Hall to his table. She had been sitting there ever since.

Back in the present, Hermione caught eyes with Harry across the room, but immediately caught the glare of Ron beside him. Her gaze morphed from one of forlorn to unforgiving ice as she turned and sat down among the snakes.

A few Slytherins nodded their heads at her, seemingly accepting her presence beside Draco, and continued their meals in silence. She huffed as she started to fill her plate with an assortment of breakfast goods.

"Still haven't told Potter he's surrounded by liars?" Draco asked as she stabbed at a piece of sausage.

She frowned to her plate before replying, "I'm not  _that_  vindictive. As much as I would love to see Ginny and Ron get their comeuppance, I can't do that to Harry. He'd have no one left. And right before the Christmas hols, that'd be cruel."

Draco shrugged as he tucked into his plate. "He'd still have you."

"True, but even I realize that Harry and Ron share something that I, alone, cannot replace. They're fond of Quidditch, Ron's family is the one he never had. No, I'm afraid Ron will have to sort that out on his own. He's always looked to me to clean up his mess. This time, he's on his own."

"Remind me never to cross you, ice princess," Draco teased the witch.

"Remind yourself never to betray me," she shot back with a wink.

All in all, Hermione found it rather easy to break bread among the snakes. The conversation often turned to the politics of the day, which she found intriguing. She shared what she knew via her father, but for the most part, the Slytherins accepted her into the conversation handily.

Even some of the witches, who Hermione had ignorantly dismissed before as vapid and shallow, welcomed her into their circles. All except Pansy, of course. Pansy sulked further down the bench, but Hermione was happy to converse with Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis about holiday plans. It wasn't long before the conversation ended, as the students departed the Hall to finish their assignments. But she and Draco were free, and were the only students who remained on the bench, along with a few first years.

Hermione sipped her coffee, turning her attention to the Slytherin. "I heard from my father today," she started carefully. Draco was still sore about his father's arrest and Kingsley's inattention, to what Draco believed, was a trivial venture to free his daughter's Godfather. Hermione quickly learned after a heated altercation that she and Draco were never going to see eye-to-eye on Lucius Malfoy, and the subject was best left alone.

But even still, Draco gave her his full attention, "And what news is there from the Ministry?"

"Nothing this time about Ministry business. Actually, I think he was trying to give me relationship advice," she laughed at the pink tinge that started around Draco's neck. It was rare to catch the Malfoy heir off guard. She took pleasure in the small ways she caused him to blush.

He quickly recovered, as he always did. "Oh, really? And what was it?"

She fiddled with her charmed bracelet. "Oh, the usual. Always be honest, and the like."

"And have you?" he questioned with a smirk. "Have you been completely honest in all your relationships?"

"Well, as you know the situation with Harry and Ron is quite complicated, and you know my thoughts on the matter," she began before he interrupted her.

"I'm talking about your relationship with me, Hermione."

She unsuccessfully tried to suppress the grin that threatened to escape. Statements like that made her Veela sing. She bit her lip in effort to keep from snogging the hell out of him right there. "Oh, had we defined what we are?" Though she teased, Hermione was a very by-the-book sort of witch. While both she and Draco had been comfortable spending time with the other, in the context of what awaited them, neither had been in rush to proclaim the other as spoken for. The school did enough of that for them already. Her Veela had been ready to proclaim from the top of the Astronomy Tower that he was hers, and hers alone, but propriety bade her to wait. Besides, there was a matter they had yet to discuss…

"And I thought we were being honest with each other?" he pestered.

She took a healthy sip of her coffee and turned to face him on the bench. "If we're truly being honest, then you'd tell me what's been keeping you up late at night lately." She watched as the smile slid from his face. Just like that, playful Draco had shut down. Undeterred, she pressed on, "I know you've completed nearly all of our assignments. We the share the same schedule, and unless it's a project I'm unaware of…"

"Lay off, ok?" Draco looked around to see if any other Slytherins were close enough to overhear the conversation.

"Why? What is it?" Her Veela sat to attention within as it picked up certain details a human never could: Draco's accelerated heartbeat, the nervousness, the anxiety, fear. Hermione gasped with the realization – Draco was afraid of something.

"Something that doesn't concern you, is what," Draco clipped as he stood, ready to leave the Hall.

She stood, too, prepared to follow. Ever watchful of those who remained, she kept her voice low, less more rumors started that evening. "Do you really think that will stop me?"

Both waited until they had passed the entrance to the Great Hall, before she started again, more freely, "Draco, I can tell something is the matter. You've been terribly stressed these past few weeks, when I know the school work hasn't been that demanding for you."

"Wonderful of you to notice."

She huffed in frustration, "I more than notice. I care!" she blurted the truth out suddenly. If she had overstepped a line they had yet to define, then so be it. But she wouldn't sit idly by and do nothing while her mate suffered needlessly. "I hope you know you're welcome to share anything with me. I won't judge you for it, or lecture you. I honestly care if it's enough to cause insomnia."

Something in his demeanor softened as he regarded her, before he closed off again. "Be that as it may, it isn't something that concerns you, Hermione. I need to meet with Severus in a few," he started to back away. "I'll come find you for dinner?" he asked, signaling the end to their conversation.

But she wasn't done yet.

She watched him turn sharply for the stairway that led to the dungeons. While the logical part of her told her to give him the space he requested, her Veela pushed to pursue. Her mate needed help. Her feet were swift and light as she bounded down the steps behind him, two and three at a time. She walked a familiar path to Professor Snape's living quarters. Like any other Slytherin, he preferred his quarters down in the dungeons.

Quietly approaching the locked door, she worried this decision crossed an imaginary line. But as if moving automatically, she jerked her wand in the complicated pattern before she unlocked the door and dismantled the ward someone had hastily put in place. Creeping through the cracked-open door, she edged as close as possible until she could hear the distinct voices of Draco and Professor Snape tangled in heated discussion.

"There is little less than six months remaining, and yet you are still not any closer," Snape badgered.

"I'm closer than where I began," Draco argued back. "We need more time."

Wearily Snape replied, "Time is running out, Draco, and we need assurances."

"And you will have it," Draco promised.

A voice Hermione did not expect joined the conversation between Godfather and Godson. "I hate that something so vital has been left to one so young, but surely Mr. Malfoy, you can understand my dilemma." Could it be?

Hermione stepped out of the doorway into the small living area, the shock too great to remain hidden. "Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, completely bewildered.

The Headmaster wrapped his hands behind his back, and greeted her as if he had been expecting her. "Ah, Ms. Granger. So good of you to join us. Please, do come in."

Hermione looked beyond Hogwarts' Headmaster to Professor Snape and Draco behind him, huddled over piles of parchment and a coffee table. A red vein of frustration begun to appear at Draco's temple as she moved into the room. Snape stepped back with a scowl, but made no move to object. Snape gave Draco a lifted brow, as if to ask if this was his doing.

Dumbledore ignored the non-conversation behind him and greeted her, "My dear, I'm glad you can join us." He looked around to Draco and Snape, who wore mismatched expressions: one nodded in approval, the other shook their head, obviously disagreeing to the decision she was not aware had been made. "I believe your voice is what we need at the moment," Dumbledore asserted. "Your timing is, as the Muggles say, 'spot on'."


	17. A Dance on a Lake

There was little that would stop Hermione as she made her way swiftly across the castle, and onto the cold grounds outside. It had been nearly breakfast when she had entered Professor Snape's living quarters. As she emerged into the unforgiving December air, the sun had long ago set, indicating the passage of another day. It had just been hours ago when she had entered Snape's quarters, but it felt like a lifetime.

It certainly felt like one life had ended and another began as she left the room, numb and unable to process all that had been divulged and discussed over the course of a most-trying day. The concept of time was nothing new to her. It was precious and yet, fleeting as she continued on the road to nowhere; but she suddenly needed more time, or a time turner to turn back the clock.

Rigth now, she focused on her need to get out of that room; the room where her innocence had been left behind. She quickly scanned possible avenues, alternatives the men in the room must have missed, but they all concluded with the same ending.

Draco.

And the overwhelming realization was that she could not leave him to his fate. Morally, she could have wrestled with it. But her Veela would not stand for it.

The object of her jumbled thoughts shouted from behind, "Hermione!"

Her heart stitched at his call, but she continued walking in the frigid air. The frost that numbed her from the outside, perfectly mirrored the detached shock from within. How could she face him after this? He was sure to learn the truth now. Her overly concerned statements from earlier. The fierceness in which she argued back with her Headmaster. The way she had almost went into a blind rage at the thought of them putting her mate in harm's way.

Quick footsteps approached. "Hermione, wait!" A rare plea from him. The being within warred to slow the witch's steps, but Hermione persisted on her path. This would change everything, she thought. There would be no coming back from this.

She could hear Draco catching up, and when he was close enough, she turned to him in righteous anger, "Were you  _ever_  going to tell me?!" The accusation cut like acid, but she relished in it. Because buried beneath the accusation was hurt and fear. Would her mate really do such a thing? Did he know that this could tear them apart before 'they' ever began?

Draco also had nothing but the clothes on his back, indicating he must have left shortly after she. His nose and ears were smudged red and he huffed clouds of visible vapor from the exertion, but his silence said more than he ever could.

She shook her head, the disappointment clear. She thought something between them had started to shift. "I can't honestly say I'm surprised."

A gust of wind clipped his hair forward into his eyes, and hers away from her face. "It wasn't for you to know," he stressed, hands balled by his side.

She turned with the wind and continued her journey to nowhere, rudely ending the brief encounter.

But Draco would not be deterred, and followed behind her, speaking to her back, "We were hardly on speaking terms at the beginning of the year. You, as well as I, knew our paths were never meant to cross. If not for our families' arrangement, we'd be on little more than civil terms."

She snorted her agreement.

He quickly matched her pace, though she supposed he could have at any time. He purposefully gave her room as he walked alongside her. "After my mother informed me of the marriage contract this summer, Severus approached me shortly thereafter with a proposal. I knew you'd fight the arrangement tooth and nail given our history, but perhaps there could be a way for us to be, properly."

She bit her lip as she marched straight ahead in defiant anger, but ever attentive. "So, you thought lying to me would be the best way?"

He stopped her then with a quick catch of the elbow, forcing her to swing around and face him. He stared down at her, the fierceness of the wind around them was no match for the storminess caught within his eyes. "You and I both know a war is coming, and we could never properly  _be_  with it hanging over our heads. My family and yours are squarely on opposite ends of that war…"

"But we don't have to be!" she pressed the issue once more. Back in Snape's quarters, it had been shot down then and he shot it down now.

Draco continued, undeterred, "…And logically our loyalties are the likewise divided. It remains this relationship's biggest obstacle. Severus told me one way to move past our history. So I made a choice."

Hermione wanted to scream at him that it was the wrong choice. That he had other options. Something made her choke down the words because she wanted to understand. Then again, silence was never her strong suit as she shouted over the wind, "So you made a choice to follow a madman who would see me and my friends killed?!"

"I made a choice to end this bloody war for once and for all! Don't you see?" Draco sighed at her strained silence, before continuing a bit tired, and maybe a bit confused as she, "Maybe then, afterwards … there could be a possibility … and we could have what our parents' once hoped for," he finished, standing there silently as the wind whipped about his clothes.

Just what did their parents hope for, Hermione wondered. Kingsley tried his best to explain what he wanted for his daughter when he agreed to Lucius Malfoy's proposition all those years ago. But what did the Malfoys want: status, pureblood progeny, more galleons to add to their growing fortune? There was a piece missing here, she could feel it. And once again she grew despondent that she had not been privy to this information and her biological parents since birth. Because while she was still learning, Draco already knew what was required of him. Then a flash of a memory brought an idea to her. She met his gaze across the distance. "Do you think you can find the memory of when we first met?" She swallowed, and lifted her index to her temple, "Here?"

"What?"

She closed her eyes and concentrated, visualized herself searching deep within. "It'd have to had been shortly after your birth in June, but before my mother and I were attacked in the fall. I would have been nearly a year-old." She re-opened her eyes to find him peering at her in uncertainty.

"The last time I did…" he trailed off, clearly recalling how she had attacked in anger.

She exhaled, and nodded. "This time, you have my permission." She trusted Draco to do it, he was a skillful Legilimens. "Please. I need to see something."

He stuck his tongue between his teeth, ever guarded. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she breathed, as she closed her eyes once more. She could hear the night wind shuffling overhead, the distant calls of animals beyond the forest's edge, and Draco as he exhaled softly over her head. When had he had moved closer?

"Are you thinking about me?" he whispered.

Truthfully, she answered, "Yes."

"Good." There was a hint of smugness there, but she did not call him on it. "Hold it," he instructed. "Think of Kingsley and Marie. Can you picture them in your mind's eye?"

She nodded, feeling the tip of his Hawthorn wand lightly touch her temple. "Yes."

He whispered a fraction above her eyes, " _Legilimens_!"

_The small party was having a picnic. Summer had yet to wane as two witches, dressed in white tea length dresses, set two infants on an expansive blanket spread on the green grass. An elf did his best to mind the infants, but at nearly one year-old and three months, there wasn't far either could go rather quickly._

_The almost-toddler aged girl dressed in a fine yarn dress, sat clapping excitedly at the elf's display of magic, while a three month-old blond boy pushed an unsteady head from the floor. The boy stared at the girl as she grabbed at the butterfly the elf had created with a snap of his finger._

_Mere steps away, the women in white, Marie Shacklebolt and Narcissa Malfoy smiled proudly and joyfully at the children on the blanket, as they pointed and waved to their children. Close by under the shade of a large Elm, ever watchful over their families, stood the regal and proud Kingsley Shacklebolt and Lucius Malfoy as they sipped on a beverage. The two men were immersed in light conversation, evidenced by sly smiles and easy eyes._

" _Draco has just learned to roll-over, Marie," Narcissa gushed, proud of her son latest's development. Narcissa dropped to an elegant squat as she cooed to her son, "Here, darling," she called from behind the two children. "Mummy's over here."_

_As expected, the infant Draco turned his head to his mother's voice behind him, and in like manner fell to his back trying to follow her voice._

_As he accomplished the feat, the infant girl, Emmeline, mirrored the enthusiastic cheering of her Godmother and clapped two chubby hands just as hard. Both mothers laughed at the sight._

Hermione and Draco were deposited back in the present as the short memory ended, with nothing but the sound of their collective breaths co-mingling between them. There were tears in her eyes; she could feel the wetness on her lashes. Instead of tears of anger, this time, they were from sadness.

"They were so happy," Hermione mourned how a day full of promise and cheer had come, several years later, to this.

Draco's eyes were glassy too, "Yes, they were," he softly agreed.

"Could we ever be that happy?" She was unsure because truthfully, it was hard to see how at the moment. Her immediate future contained death, betrayal, and hurt. The conversation in Snape's quarters guaranteed it.

A finger tilted her chin up towards him, as he lowered his head to kiss her away her sadness. "I'm sure we could find a way."

Gods knew how she wanted to give into him! Her stomach flipped in anticipation as the natural reaction to tilt her head and close her eyes took hold. Fluttering her eyelids open, she placed two hands on Draco's chest and halted the blond from completing the kiss.

"Draco, wait," she whispered, a hair's length from his waiting lips. Even deep breaths could not steady a wild heartbeat and dangerous thoughts. Her shoulders itched as she dragged her line of sight to meet grey eyes full of confusion. She explained, "There's something you must know. Though I never met my mother … you see, I learned this summer she hails from a particular line of Veela," she watched as his eyes narrowed and examined her face. "And as her daughter, the gene passed onto me."

He was close enough to inhale as he replied; she closed her eyes and relished in the scent of her mate. "You're a Veela, you mean." The statement was rough, and evident of restraint.

Hermione followed the scent to the collar of his shirt as her lips parted eager for a taste previously denied. "Hmmhmm. You have a choice to make, Draco." She suddenly pulled back, rapidly realizing her descent to the point of no return. And if there was one thing she would not do, it would be to deliberately sway her mate one way, even if she wanted to. "I was angry earlier because I  _will_  assist you with this task, but not because Professors Snape and Dumbledore asked me to. Because they willingly put your life in danger, and there is never a choice to be made when it comes to you. I will do this because something within me will always protect you and be there for you. I don't understand it myself…"

"I'm your mate?" he asked incredulously.

She looked away, scratching at her shoulder blades, which had begun to itch in earnest. "Yes, and I realize how awful a situation that must put you in." She leveled her gaze on him. "But do you understand what I'm saying? There is no going back for me in this. But you have a choice, and I will respect that choice, whatever it is."

Then Draco was in her personal space as fire began to erupt beneath her shoulders and down her back. Determined this time, he smirked, "As if there was ever a choice to be made…" He kissed her as the fire spread, the shyness of his earlier attempt thrown to the wayside as he cupped each side of her overheated face. He held her in place as she drowned under her first kiss. At first, before the moment ever came, she dreamed how she would respond: how she would place her lips just so, how she would lightly run her hands in someone's hair, how there would be butterflies. But from little girl dreams to reality, she dumbly twisted her hands in Draco's shirtfront, desperate to hold on as he claimed her mouth most thoroughly. She was shocked at the moan that rumbled low in her throat.

Draco Malfoy had a wicked kiss.

She stumbled under the force of his kiss, but did not mind until the tearing of fabric and cloth had both dragging open their eyes. His facial expressions were her mirror to what was happening. Alarm replaced flushed cheeks and desire as his eyes lifted from her mouth to grow wide in shock. She tracked the astonishment all over his face.

Almost afraid to ask, she shakenly inquired, "W-what is it?"

But the answer appeared in her peripheral as the tips of large white feathers fluttered into view. The wings, large and silver under the moonlight, shook themselves out above her. They spread far past the length of her arms. "Bloody hell, is that…" she trailed off in a rare curse trying to turn around, as Draco caught her shoulders.

"This is extraordinary," he whooped with delight. She watched as he lifted one hand from her shoulder to touch the new appendage she had sprouted. She could feel the feather-like caress as he ran his tips down the new bone that supported the silver array of feathers. "Does this hurt?"

As long as he caressed her, it could never hurt she wanted to say, but instead, she shook her head. "My Aunt Apolline mentioned that Veela wings could be a possibility, but I wonder why they would emerge now?" She experimented with expanding and contracting the newest extension of herself with fascination. She peered at Draco, still captivated by the sight. "Unless … you've accepted to be my mate?" She smiled hesitantly at him, woefully unsure if there was a ritual she should be following. "I did not hear the actual words."

Draco lowered his gaze from her new wings. A slow smile finally made the butterflies appear. "Shall I kiss you again to prove it to you?"

Her heart sang, as she pulled at his shirt, bringing him back to her. "Just once more."

They met equally this time. She, sampling and tasting him; he, exploring as much as she would give. All he had to do was ask. All she ever had to give was his, and would always be his, though the physical words were not yet there. Instead, she told him through lips, hands, and tongue. Hands caressed every available surface as every bit of her sang. Lips bruised and warred for dominance as a light grew from within. And, Gods, when their tongues met…

A hand ghosted under his shirt as she wrapped an arm across his back. His hands settled on her hips and lower waist, ever searching and squeezing her to him. Lack of air made her dizzy and light-headed. The December wind could lift and take her away and she'd hardly noticed as she slanted her head to meet Draco's, granting him deeper access.

He groaned and she hummed as they met, over and over. There in the dead of night, a bond was formed between them. It was new, but ready to be forged in the trials ahead.

Feet left solid ground as Hermione clung fiercely to Draco, her mate.

"Mine," she panted as she broke free from his mouth, pulling his head down to meet her again.

The lost themselves in each other, until their shoes and feet grew cold and then, wet. The teens broke apart at the odd sensation.

"Oh, shit!" Draco cried in alarm, grabbing Hermione across her middle as he hung on for dear life. He held on just beneath her wings. Draco and Hermione clung to each other as they hovered over the middle of Hogwarts' expansive Great Lake. Their feet had been submerged before sensation brought them to awareness. Hermione lifted them back up, her wingspan strong enough to keep she and Draco from slipping into the lake.

They hovered there, clinging to the other, mere feet from the lake's surface. It was beautiful in a way, the two of them slowly spinning on the lake's surface with every her flap of her wings beneath the winter moon. The lake was still as if the sea creatures had stopped to watch the winged Veela and her mate dance on the water.

Hermione used the proximity to nuzzle Draco's neck, calmly assuring the blond, "Don't worry, I won't let you fall," she promised into his neck. Slowly, she lifted her legs to wrap them around Draco's waist, securing him to her, and she to him.

Now face-to-face, Hermione took them higher into the wind. "I've got you," was the last thing she said before leaning forward to seal the declaration with a soul-binding kiss.


	18. To Lie with Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter serves as bit of a time jump to move the story along. Thank you all for your continued support! It really keeps me going.

"Occlude your mind, Ms. Shacklebolt, or you will not make it to this war's end," Professor Severus Snape said simply.

Hermione rested against a desk in the Defense classroom, her energy exerted. "That's a bit dramatic don't you think? Failing to shield my thoughts will get me killed?"

"It can," Snape assured her. "Again," he announced, just as harshly as before.

Hermione steadied herself as he lifted his wand to a spot between her eyes.

But instead of commencing the exercise again, Snape posed a question instead, "What are you thinking about?"

A frown appeared between her eyes. "Images I want you to see. To throw you off."

Snape lowered his wand with a flourish. "And that is why you are failing. A successful Occulumens does not shield his mind by throwing false images at the one seeking to intrude. He shows them the truth," he drawled.

The crease deepened. "I don't understand."

Snape sighed. "Has Draco shared with you why he exceeds at mind magic?"

Hermione bit her lip as she shook her head. "We've talked little on the subject, but I did not want him to teach me. I value your instruction, sir."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ms. Shacklebolt."

Irritated, Hermione crossed her arms. "Why do you call me that? I mean, yes, it's my name, but I don't introduce myself as her."

Snape walked around his student. "It is your truth. Again, to my original question. Draco, and others before him, succeeds at Occulumency because they have perfected the art of lying with truth."

Hermione studied the floor before her as she repeated the words in her head. "Like saying my name is Emmeline Shacklebolt? It's the truth, but not exactly accurate." She lifted her head to meet Snape's eyes as he nodded.

"Precisely, Ms. Shacklebolt. There are lies we tell ourselves all the time, so much so, that the mind begins to accept it as fact. Once you have convinced the mind, it is easy enough to convince someone else."

"But won't the lie eventually corrupt the mind?" Hermione pressed, uncomfortable where this could lead.

Snape chose to ignore that question, as he instructed her, "Again.  _Legilimens_!"

* * *

Hermione closed the door as she left the classroom, in time to start her prefect rounds, but too late to grab dinner. The charms on her bracelet jingled as she shut the door. Examining her wrist, she admired her growing mini-collection: the bejeweled lightning bolt of her father's house, the ruby rose of her mother's house, and the newest charm of her collection, an emerald winged dragon gifted to her at Christmas.

Hermione could not stop the smile that came with the memory. Draco had gifted her the charm as a Christmas present during a visit to Crestmoor. Neither her father, nor Narcissa, missed the sweet exchange or the kiss she gave to Draco in return.

There was a sinking feeling that such sweet moments would be far and in between in the coming months. Her stomach's growling interrupted any further thoughts.

"Missing another meal, Granger?"

The smile she had been trying to tamper returned with a vengeance the moment she found Draco waiting for her at the end of the hallway. Her pace quickened in an effort to be near him, and as soon as they were close enough, she lifted to her toes to brush her lips against his. He must've have missed her as well judging by the hands that clung to her school uniform as she fell into his embrace.

Draco moved bothersome curls that impeded their kiss away from her face. "You weren't at dinner," he muttered as they broke apart, his eyes still closed from the sweeping emotions that seemed to overcome them every time this happened. Which was more and more as of late.

She nodded slowly, her eyes closed as well, savoring the cool passion that was Draco's alone. "Another session with Snape," she offered by way of explanation. "I'm making progress," she beamed in excitement, grateful she could share this with him.

There wasn't anyone she could talk to about this path she and Draco were traversing. Kingsley took her shopping during the holidays, but the opportune moment never presented itself. In the end, she was seventeen, legally an adult, and there was no changing her mind when she decided to do something. She ended up sitting back and enjoying the holiday celebration, unable to break the tentative calm between them all.

Draco pulled an apple out of his shoulder bag and offered it to his witch with a smirk. "Doesn't mean you should to starve yourself," he chided.

Hermione took the apple, grateful for something to tide her over during her rounds. Slowly, the Veela and the Slytherin made their way to the staircase, content to linger a bit longer. "Thank you. It's been a long day. Harry tried to speak with me after lunch today." She took a generous bite from the fruit.

"Let me guess. Potter still doesn't know that his best friend and girlfriend are traitorous half-wits?" Draco ventured. He caught her fiddling with her bracelet about her wrist, as she often did when she was nervous or anxious about something. His hand sought hers to still her anxiety. "I thought he'd figure it out by now."

"No, Harry doesn't understand why I'm upset with Ron and Ginny, though I gathered Ron would have told him by now," Hermione growled the last part, every bit the lion of her House. "I had thought to tell Harry myself over the holidays, but this arrangement with Snape and Dumbledore changes everything. And as much as I hate to say it, perhaps it could serve to our advantage."

Draco studied the curly-headed witch chewing nervously on her lip as she pondered potential avenues. "This isn't pretend, Hermione. There won't be cloaks of invisibility to hide under. And with your father serving as the Minister, this is assured to get out. Are you sure you don't want to step back? Disentangle yourself from falling in even further?"

Hermione gave him a sly smile. "As if the possibility of my father finding out would be enough to dissuade me?" She leaned against his shoulder and teased, "You'll have to try harder."

Draco knew she had to get started on her patrols, but halted before they were due to separate for the evening. "I'm serious, love. There shan't be an opportunity to course-correct once we've started."

She sighed as she released her bottom lip. "I know. I've thought about it for quite some time." Switching the subject slightly, she explained, "I visited my parents over the holiday break."

"Yes, Mother was quite cross you couldn't stay longer at Crestmoor."

"Between my father, my adopted parents, and my God-mother, there wasn't enough time to visit everyone properly. But, as I was talking with my parents over my mother's famous goose, I realized there aren't really do-overs in life. And despite everything my adopted mother and father learned about how I came to their care, they wouldn't have changed a thing. And when it comes to you and me, I wouldn't change a thing either. It will be hard, what's to come for you and me, but I think we can do it."

Draco tried and failed to hide his grin. "You think? Not exactly reassuring."

Hermione smiled back. "I know. It's why Professor Snape has been so relentless in his Occulumency tutelage."

"He knows the stakes."

"It's not proving as easy as I imagined it would be."

Now, that had him full-on grinning. "Finally, something the brightest witch of her age doesn't immediately excel at."

"I didn't say I couldn't get it," she quickly gave back. "The complexities that comes with shuttering one's mind, a lifetime of memories, isn't as easy as repeating an incantation. Professor Snape called it 'lying with truth'. Have you heard of it?"

"Ah yes, the old Slytherin adage," Draco joked. He laughed at her expression. "I'm kidding. But it is known that Slytherins are more familiar with the practice than others. It takes a certain willingness you won't find in other Houses to accept that one can both lie and still tell the truth. Before you know it, it becomes easy enough to do so."

"So, I should focus on telling myself that it's okay to lie, is what you're saying?" she asked, completely perplexed.

"No, I'm saying you first have to focus on your truth. Once you've done so, lies around that become second-nature," he replied to her utter dissatisfaction.

More satisfaction was had from the kiss he dropped onto her forehead. She seemed to crave his physical touch more than ever these days and he seemed to know this. It was her Veela, she knew, desperate for more intimacy with the blond. Though she supposed it was for her as well. "How are you doing otherwise?" he whispered.

Even though they were not yet bonded, Hermione insisted on taking things slow between them. After he had accepted being her mate, ashamedly, she wanted to do things she had never thought to do with a boy before. The very idea of carrying out fantasies she had dreamed about was enough to paralyze her with both fear and anticipation. But Draco seemed in tune with her state of being, which was currently in flux, and never pressed her to do more than what she was willing to do.

Then there was the possibility that the magnet in her moral compass was dangerously close to being corrupted. Her lessons with Professor Snape outlined her need to master Occulumency, and quickly.

It was a lot for Hermione to process these days. She summed the multitude of emotions into a short phrase, "Alright, I suppose. My Veela seems content, if that makes sense, but there is always an underlying sense of 'more'. I want more." She blushed fiercely. "Circe, I sound like a complete ninny."

He smirked, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I can't blame you, Granger. Snogging me alone could never satisfy one witch."

"Prat!"

"Your mate," he corrected, pulling her closer to him.

That had her smirking in agreement. "Mine," she agreed before she melded her lips to his.

Heated kisses did little to starve off the January cold nights that bled into weeks. As Hermione's lessons with Snape progressed, her prowess in mind magic grew. She saw it as a new chapter in her book of life, the pages waiting to be filled in. As she strengthened her mental walls, she tapped into the residual anger Kingsley held onto over Marie's attack and used it as her own. She learned she was quite adept as fostering anger, true and pure, into a proper mental shield. She used Kingsley's words as a shield, 'If you truly wish to change our world for the better,  _use_  the Malfoy name, connection, and yes, their influence to break the mold. You could do it as Hermione Granger. But you would be nigh unstoppable as Emmeline Shacklebolt Malfoy'.

She didn't fully understand what he meant the first time he told her, but as she, Draco, Professors Snape, and Dumbledore continued to meet here and there in the early months of the new year, the pieces began to fall in place.

It was why heated stares from Ginny and Ron did little to perturb her any longer. In fact, she welcomed it. She swallowed with difficulty whenever she sat down to class, and Harry across from her. But she purposely sought Draco or another to partner with on assignments instead of facing off against Harry's wounded stare.

"Tell him the truth or move on, Granger," Draco whispered to her one afternoon after Potions. She huffed in frustration, hastily wiping away a tear, before gathering her text and exiting the classroom.

Harry waited for her after Potions and ambushed her when she emereged from the classroom. "Snape seems awfully chummy with you nowadays," Harry offered tersely.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco motioned for Blaise and Theo to walk ahead without him. He wearily eyed the Boy-Who-Lived before approaching the Gryffindors. As he sided up to Hermione, Draco ghosted an arm around her waist. "Everything alright?"

Some of Hermione's ire settled now that Draco had returned to her side, but she still reserved some frustration for her friend. "I'm fine, Draco. You were saying, Harry?"

Harry eyed the non-existence space between Hermione and Draco. "Just wandering when you and the Slytherins become such good friends?"

"Since I've gotten to know them," she explained diplomatically. "It starts with a normal conversation."

"You mean like the one you refuse to have with me and Ron since the holiday break?" Harry accused.

"I'm sure Ron has had plenty to say in my absence?" she hedged, as she adjusted her shoulder bag. Draco rubbed encouraging circles on the small of her back.

Harry's eyes were wild as he took in the relationship he didn't know existed. "I don't understand what's going on between you two, but I'm sure if you just speak to him…"

Hermione huffed, feeling cold anger lap up her spine. "I've said all I needed to say to him. Why don't you ask him to tell you the truth, Harry?"

"He told me how you upset you were when he made mention that he was seeing Lavender. I didn't expect you to get so upset that you'd hex Ginny…."

"He what?!" she screeched.

"Potter, you've been had, you know that?"

Harry turned flashing eyes to Draco. "Stay out of this, Malfoy!"

"I don't think I will," Draco challenged back.

After a bit of shock, Hermione righted her breathing. "Ron can try to manipulate this to his advantage all he likes, Harry, but you have to know that I wouldn't have done something as drastic as hexing Ginny over Ron dating Lavender! You know me better than that."

Harry indicated to Draco's arm on her waist before crudely retorting, "Yeah, I thought I did. See you around, Hermione." He shook his head in disbelief as he walked away.

Twisting her hand into her cloak, she hesitated on following her oldest friend. The pain of watching him walk away was almost too much to bear.

The hand at her back rose to caress the back of her neck. "It serves to our advantage, Hermione," Draco carefully repeated her words back to her.

She nodded, unable to respond, as she willed the tears to not to fall. "I know, but it doesn't mean it hurts any less."

Harry would not speak to her from that point on.

However, none of this strife was captured in her letters to and from home. She received letters from Kingsley on updates on the Ministry's actions against Voldemort. In turn, he begged her for updates, claiming Dumbledore was willfully keeping him in the dark. She wrote back on trivial matters, without betraying Draco, Professors Snape, or Dumbledore, but even that was a fine line to walk.

Hermione sat back at her desk, running a weary hand through wild curls, the bangling of her charms the only sound in the quiet dorm. Crookshanks ran in between her ankles. Leaning down, she scratched the Kneazle's head.

"Only three months left, Crooks," she sighed aloud. "I made a wager with myself if I can go through with it. Does that make me mad?"

Predictably the Kneazle, did not answer, but she took solace in the comforting mews her beloved companion provided. "I'm scared," she admitted in the dark of her dorm. She couldn't admit her fear to Draco, he had too much on his plate already. Professor Snape probably saw it in her in weekly Occulumency training, which made her training even more crucial. She wore her anger and courage like a shield even if it had cracks in it, and for the next three months, she prayed it would be sufficient for what was to come.


	19. Emmeline (Part II)

It seemed fitting that the return of spring was mild and crisp, even by Scotland's standards. The hours dwindled rapidly toward Easter break, and so, the library was chalk full of students squeezing a term's worth of homework into the final hours. Rather than risk her concentration, Hermione chose to work in her usual place by the Great Lake. A warming charm kept her comfortable as she tried to focus on the homework before her, but runaway thoughts made it hard to focus.

An essay on Golpalott's Third Law seems trivial in the grand scheme of things as her quill hovered above the parchment. Hermione of yesteryear would have scoffed at such an idea, but here she was, a rookie playing at a dangerous game.

A shout drew her from her thoughts. "Hey princess! Have you seen Draco?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the trite nickname Pansy Parkinson had adopted of late. "I'm afraid not. Last I saw, he was meeting with Professor Snape." On the surface, the statement wasn't a complete lie, but held enough truth so that it rolled easily off the tongue.

She was slowly perfecting the art of lying with truth. Her Defense Professor would be proud.

Parkinson rolled her eyes, but seemed to accept her account. "Fine, but he better be at dinner tonight. I imagine you'd both be locked in a broom closet, but it's important to keep up appearances. Do tell him that when you see him," Pansy quipped with a lift of her lip.

The air between the lion and the snake had warmed from a frozen tundra to tepid chill. Hermione likened it to her relationship with Draco, and whatever message her mate had driven home over the winter hols. When the term had resumed earlier in the year, Pansy had been less … snippy towards Hermione.

The Slytherin princess left before Hermione could correct that she and Draco had little time for broom closets and the like. Not that Hermione wouldn't have minded the distraction of getting lost within her mate's arms for several minutes, but their attentions were needed on other pressing matters at the moment.

Hermione turned to Hogwarts in the distance where Draco had been meeting with Professor Snape before returning to the task given to him by the Dark Lord. She closed her eyes seeking him out across the distance. Their bond was still very new. Though they had been pledged together by their parents, and had accepted each other by spoken vow, they had yet to cement her Veela bond through blood and ... other carnal activities that caused her to blush fiercely.

It was the final part of the claiming ritual as described by her Aunt Apolline that had her worrying incessantly of late. The being within the very heart of her flourished and warmed at the idea of claiming Draco for all the world to see. The being within wanted them bonded for life.

But Hermione was not ready yet. Though her newly awakened Veela urged her to complete the ritual, she just wasn't there. What if something happened to one of them in the coming war? Would the other waste away after so recently being claimed? She would not dare put her mate through such pain. She did not care if she faded because something happened to Draco; her Veela would gladly welcome it, she imagined, but she could not doom him to live a shell of a life should something happen to her.

She closed her eyes to sense out her mate's presence. The feeling was weak, but there. He was somewhere inside the castle, nervous and ill-ease as much as she at what was to come.

Hermione shut her book and rolled up her parchment, frustrated beyond belief. Claiming rituals and essays could wait as she rose from the ground.

The task that was assigned to  _her_  task crept ever closer.

* * *

As June finally brought the land surrounding the castle into the warm pastels of spring, Hermione tittered between the boundaries of black and white. Of course she knew the world did not operate in the extreme, but rather along the expanse of colored greys in between.

Take her newly found Godfather, Lucius Malfoy. The man had dubious morals and wasn't above hurting others to elevate his family, but she could not deny the extreme lengths he travelled for the ones he loved, her included apparently. She had not forgotten that night in the Ministry when he had protected her from harm. For all his faults, Lucius raised Draco to be a gentleman, which he was towards her once he found out her true parentage, mind you.

When it came down to it, Hermione gathered she was not that much different than the Malfoy patriarch. She was ready to take on the impossible to spare her mate. Kingsley had been willing to fight in spite of blood, while Lucius was ready to defend his. She the saw the two men as opposite sides of the same coin. So, where did that leave her?

She had been stewing over the question for the past two hours in her dorm while her roommates relished in the arrival of the summer wind outside. Reviewing the hasty words on parchment, Hermione folded the pair of letters, each tailored to its audience accordingly, before setting off to see them delivered.

Instead of heading for the owlery, she found her way to Hogwarts' dungeons, passing students caught in the glow of the approaching end of the year. None knew what was coming for them, or deemed it incapable of reaching them here.

Finding her destination, she knocked twice, absentmindedly tapping the letters on her wrist to bide the time.

The heavy wooden door creaked as it revealed her Defense professor. He sneered as he caught the missives held out for him. "Sentimental last words?" Severus snatched the pre-offered envelopes from her hand.

Hermione sighed, as she straightened her shoulders. "I trust you to deliver this to my father. And the other to my parents in Surrey." She rubbed sweaty palms down the side of her skirt as she waited for his response. She figured he would be annoyed, but still, she trusted him to do it.

He sneered at the letters in her hand. "I needn't caution you that the contents they hold would be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands."

Hermione nodded before lifting her gaze to meet her professor's head on. "Hence why I trust you to deliver them for me."

"If you insist," he sounded bored, though he took them and stuffed the envelopes into his inner robe pockets. "Professor Dumbledore took Mr. Potter out of the castle earlier. Where? I cannot say," he preemptively responded to her unspoken question. "They will return tonight."

She took a deep breath. "I understand."

Severus gave her a skeptical brow. "Do you, Ms. Granger? The true ramifications of one's actions are often unseen until it is too late."

It was hard to miss the tint of regret between his words, but Hermione nodded. "I understand sacrifices have to be made by us all," she gave resolutely as any good solider would. "May it could include friendships, or family. Kingsley and Marie sacrificed for me many years ago. I always knew much would be required of me in this war. Given my family's connection to the Malfoys', our current trajectory doesn't take me by surprise."

"Gryffindors and their self-pity," Severus drawled, snapping her from a road that would certainly lead to nowhere. "When you are ready to join Draco and myself in reality, we'll be waiting this evening. Ten p.m. by the statue. Do not be late."

He was right. Tonight was not for self-pity or second guesses. Focus and precision was needed. Hermione clipped her head to the older man. "Yes, Professor."

He gave her a strange look at the formal title, given what was about to occur before backing into shadows of his private quarters. He left her standing in the flickering light of the torch-lit hallway.

Unsettled nerves made her miss dinner. It was probably better that way. Having to share a meal with the Slytherins, and watch her former friends across the Hall would prove difficult.

Oddly, she did not seek her mate out before their predetermined meetup time. She spent her last hours of the evening strolling through Hogwarts' library, up the staircases, and through Gryffindor's common room before meandering about her dorm. She committed every single detail to memory.

When it was time, she snuck out of her dorm alone. Harry and Ron would not accompany her this adventure.

In dead of night, two teens met by the gargoyle statute that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Hermione ran to Draco the moment she saw him, eager to be in his arms this night. She molded herself to him as he rested his chin on top of her head for a quiet moment. She pondered briefly when had he grown tall enough to do that?

"Are you alright?" Draco spoke above her.

She clung to his shirt too tightly from him not to discern the truth. "As well as one can be. And you?"

One hand pulled her closer to him, "Terrified," he admitted quietly.

As he approached, Severus found the teens clinging to the other before statute. He observed Draco in his custom black, she, in tailored black trousers and a satin blouse courtesy of Narcissa.

"Are you two ready?" Their professor queried, though all knew it was too late not to be.

Draco nodded.

Hermione bit her lip, but nodded as well.

"Then Draco, make your way to the cabinet. Ms. Granger, with me," Snape ordered. He turned in a flourish of robes not waiting for her to follow.

With a parting glance to Draco, Hermione squeezed his hand and jogged to catch up with the man.

"Emmeline, Professor," she corrected as she fell in step beside him.

He slowed his gait at the correction, but quickly fell in step with her again. "Ms. Shacklebolt, then," he slowly amended as the two began the long climb to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

She felt the June night air before she emerged at the tower's pinnacle. Her wand dropped into her hand as they ascended the stairs. Both slowed as they approached the open-aired balcony and positioned themselves to wait.

The actual wait was longer than it seemed. But before she knew it, as Severus said, Harry and Professor Dumbledore appeared at the tower's edge, worn and shaking from exertion. Her heart squeezed as she battled against the instinct to run and give her Headmaster aid.

Right. There was a matter of priorities.

As she and Severus emerged from the shadows, Harry looked at them in surprise. His green eyes pleaded for assistance. "Professor Snape! We need your help. We've just escaped…"

With a flick of her wand, Hermione sent the Boy-Who-Lived skidding away from their Headmaster.

"Hermione?" he asked in utter confusion as he pushed to his knees.

"I'm sorry, were you expecting us to do something?" she carefully measured each word to minimize the tremor in her voice. She twisted her vinewood wand in her hand, lifting Harry to his feet. " _Petrificus Totalus,"_  she calmly remarked, the tremor gone now. There was no need to say the spell aloud, as she had made great strides in non-verbal magic that year. The effect was merely for Harry's benefit.

She needed him to know it was  _she_  who had cast the spell.

Green eyes froze in shock as he locked into place, the confusion and surprise clear for all to see.

"Ms. Granger…" A frail call turned their attention to their Headmaster, who struggled to push himself off the ground.

" _Experillamus_!" she shouted quickly as his wand flitted from his fingers and into her grasp. She caught the loose wand and pocketed it in the waist of her trousers.

Dumbledore stood defenseless, his back to the clear June moon. "It seems our calculations were incorrect, Severus," Dumbledore admitted, almost humorously, as he lifted outturned hands in surrender.

But the air around the quartet chilled as manacial laughter echoed in the small chamber. Hermione closed her eyes briefly for patience. She would never get used to Bellatrix LeStrange's shrill 'laughter' as long as she lived.

Bellatrix gleefully asked as she joined the play already in motion, "What have we here?" Hermione did not have to see her to know the woman's eyes were alight in mirth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco had joined them as well. She drew strength from his proximity and re-trained her focus to the clear blue eyes of her Headmaster before her.

Dumbledore, with arms outstretched, cautioned her directly, "I presume you have thought about what you're doing, Ms. Granger."

Hermione gave a sad smile and whispered, "I afraid she doesn't exist anymore, Professor. She hasn't for a while now."

Across the way, Harry's eyes screamed his hurt and anger. His anger was always a powerful thing and was the catalyst to partially break her spell. Though he could yell, he could not yet move his limbs. He growled in spite, "I will never forgive you this!"

Hermione blinked at the utter revulsion she found in his glare, as she battled away the emotion curling about her gut. "I expect you not to."

However, it was Dumbledore's plea that drew the teens' attention. "Ms. Granger,  _please_."

Her eyes darkened as she looked lastly to her mate, to what would await him should he fail. It was what set this entire course in motion. She would do the impossible to save him, her family, and even Harry; though her former friend cursed her, she would do it for him, too.

The intensity of Hermione's devotion morphed as it poured from her heart into her wand arm. Along the way, it shifted into something vile and unnatural, but every word was purposeful as she uttered the inevitable.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

There was only Bellatrix's shout of glee as she cast  _Morsmorde_. All who were present watched as the life of Hogwarts' Headmaster was stolen by the Heir of House Shacklebolt.

Before his lifeless body hit the floor, Harry, his anger finally strong enough to overcome her spell, quickly fired in response, but Hermione had expected as much. His first attempt was easily blocked, as was the second barrage.

"Destroy him!" Bellatrix roared from somewhere behind her, eager to see the former friends duel one another to the death.

But she would only block and slow him, even as he fired increasingly dangerous spells at her.

Hermione sensed Draco as he inched closer to her side. She could feel his desire to jump into the duel, but she could not allow that. Hermione blocked another stunner before Harry shifted his aim to Draco beside her.

Then her world tipped to black.

An searing tear across her shoulder blades was her only warning before the tower was shocked into silence. Her wings, powerful and all-encompassing, quickly extended to encircle Draco before Harry's spell could land. The spell hit her wings though it felt like a pinch to her. She looked over the spines of her feathered appendage as she darkly warned Harry, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What is this?" Bellatrix cooed in wonder.

But it was Severus who stepped into the middle of them of the all. With a swish, Harry was ensnared by thick ropes, his surprise at her Veela heritage his downfall. "Leave," Severus bid them all. "The Aurors will be here shortly."

But Bellatrix's blood lust could never be contained. "We take care of the boy now. Our Lord will be reward us handsomely."

Severus stripped Harry of his wand as he dismissed her idea. "Someone needs to be left alive to explain what happened here. Who better than the Boy-Who-Lived?"

From the ground, Harry vowed, "You all will pay. I swear it."

Beside her, Bellatrix toyed with her curls, "The brightest witch of her age is on our side. You don't stand a chance."

Severus warned them again, "The Aurors are coming. Bellatrix, with me." He nodded to Hermione, shock at what she revealed clear on his face, but he trusted her to safely see herself and Draco away.

As her wings reared back, leaving the tattered remains of her shirt, she took Draco's hand into her own. "I'll take Draco. We'll be fine."

Severus nodded as he nudged Bellatrix down the stairs. "Find me when you are away."

Then, only Draco, Hermione, and Harry remain with the dead. Hermione neared the tower's edge and surveyed the distance to the ground as Harry hissed from the floor. "Hermione! How could you?! I trusted you."

Hermione did not chance a look at her former friend, keenly aware of what awaited in his eyes. "There are some things that can never be forgiven, Harry," she replied cryptically as she magically positioned Dumbledore's body beside Harry's.

Harry struggled to move, but Severus' binds were tight. Without a wand, he was powerless. "Bullshit. When have I ever hurt you?"

Hermione led Draco to the edge, indicating it was time to leave. She whispered to herself, "The moment you raised your wand to my mate." Harry remained perplexed as he pushed her to respond, but there was no time for explanations. Perhaps when this was all over, they could sit down and discuss what happened tonight. "Goodbye, Harry."

Teetering on the edge, Hermione secured her arms under Draco's as they did that night on the Great Lake. He filled her vision and her heart stitched, so dangerously close to shredding into miniscule pieces. That  _Avada_ rent her soul.

Hugging her close, Draco whispered above her, "Let's go, Hermione."

Her wings expanded and beat on their own accord as the pair lifted from the tower's ledge; Harry's calls trailed long after their exit. Soon, they were deposited to the fields below Hagrid's Hut. As their feet hit the ground, both took off running.

As soon as they cleared the castle's wards, both Apparated into the night.

Because several months ago, Dumbledore requested that Hermione take Draco's task to kill Hogwarts' Headmaster. Severus and Draco had successfully gained access to Voldemort's circle before the school year began. Together, the Slytherins presented Draco as a way to bring honor back to his family name.

However, Dumbledore did not think Draco adequately prepared to take on the task assigned to him by the Dark Lord. So Severus and he persuaded her, under the cloak Emmeline Shacklebolt, Heir of House Shacklebolt, to assist Draco with this terrible task. Voldemort would not turn down an alluring offer to strike at the new Minister for Magic, while simultaneously crippling the Light. Ever since the four of them discussed these plans in secrecy, she had dreaded this day.

She did not agree because Dumbledore asked her all those months ago. She agreed because it would save her mate's soul. Hers could be repaired later, when all would be revealed and made right.

For now, Hermione and Draco would play the part Severus and Dumbledore had so carefully concocted. Bolstered by Bellatrix's firsthand account to Hermione's willingness to betray the Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione would convince Voldemort that Emmeline Shacklebolt was more than ready to take her place by her fiancée's side on the Dark.

Though neither she, nor Draco, could anticipate the true costs that such duplicity would have on a pair of seventeen year-olds.

_Dear Father,_

_By time you read this, I imagine you would have heard the news by now. I am truly sorry. I'm sorry we won't be able to spend the summer together. I'm sorry I have disappointed you. I was looking forward to returning to Cambridge, but war is finally upon us and we all have a part to play. I have chosen mine._

_Yours in truth,_

_Emme_

_._

_._

_To the only parents I have ever known,_

_There are matters that require my immediate attention. I will not be returning for quite some time. It may be months, it may be years, but know that I need to see this through. Please do not attempt to contact me. I will not respond. Lastly, it is my wish that you leave this country, for there is nothing left for you here, except heartache and death._

_Leave now._

_I remain forever grateful for everything you've done for me, but please. Go._

_All my love,  
HG_


	20. For the Greater Good

_Several months ago …_

" _You see Ms. Granger, I believe this is our only recourse."_

_Professors Dumbledore and Snape, and Draco proposed and debated theory within the tight space of Severus' living quarters before a Gryffindor interrupted their meeting._

_Since then, Hermione had tried to change their way of thinking, but they had overruled her. She_ _could not help the stare of accusation leveled upon her cursed Headmaster as she tried, again, to re-shape their plan. "But with the proper resources, I'm sure we can find a cure," she stressed to the room full of men who had made up their minds._

_Severus responded as if he'd had this argument before, "We would only delay the inevitable. You don't think every avenue hasn't been tested and tried?"_

_Dumbledore nodded his agreement. "It is difficult to fathom now, but this **is**  to our advantage, Ms. Granger."_

" _How is ki_ _lling you is to our advantage?! What about the Order?" Hermione cried._

_Dumbledore fastened his hands before him, one cursed and one healthy, and said simply, "I have faith they will rise to the occasion in my absence, but even better, they will triumph because we have you and Mr. Malfoy hidden among Voldemort's ranks, along with Severus here." Dumbledore stepped forward to lay a hand on her shoulder as she blinked back tears. "I know this is much to ask of you and Mr. Malfoy; it is a regret I will carry until the end, but if anyone could succeed at such endeavor, I know it would be you."_

_Hermione ground her teeth in frustration. "But Professor…"_

" _I have faith in you, Hermione," he overrode her coming protest in a soft voice, eager to dive into the mechanics of their subterfuge. "For the greater good, as they say." He smiled, though the twinkle typically in his eyes dimmed at the grim proposition laid at her feet._

" _Okay," she relented. She was not happy, but she would do it._

_Present Day_

The evening summer air was disturbed by a pop signaling the magical arrival of two travelers. Darkness gave the pair cover as they regrouped following their traumatic flight from Hogwarts. Which was fine by Hermione, because the alley wall, and Draco, were the only things holding her up at the moment. Draco searched their surrounding for others, while she slipped towards panic.

Looking back at her, Draco asked carefully, "Are you alright?" He titled her chin towards him as she struggled to right her breathing.

Panic began to take hold. "I-I'm not sure." Hermione wondered if she would be ever again. "I … I killed him." Never mind the fact they had planned this beginning with the night she'd stumbled upon them all those months ago, or the fact that her Headmaster was fatally cursed and not long for this world. Dumbledore had asked her, at great personal cost, to kill him rather than leave things to fate. Still, she had taken a life.

Hermione gripped her wand tightly; the lingering touches of the  _Avada_  stung her palm. Switching the wand to another hand, she tried to wipe the ugly feeling on her leg, seeking to replace the sensation immediately. "Kiss me," she pleaded in a whisper.

Her mate wasted no time in yielding to her request as cool hands cupped her cheeks. She closed her eyes the moment pliable lips brushed against her own as she tried to focus on Draco and not the dark thoughts plaguing her mind. Hands shifted up and into her curls and measure by measure, she slowly relaxed into Draco's searing kiss.

Now, her heart raced for an entirely different reason.

Draco broke the kiss, though his hands gently framed her head. For a moment, the two teens stared at each other. "Still with me?" he whispered.

Hermione tugged on his hand until it was close to her mouth. She placed a tender kiss to the back of his knuckles, and nodded. "Always."

He leaned forward until his chin rested on her forehead. She took solace from his steady heartbeat as she inhaled the distinctive scent that was his alone. She burrowed further into his neck.

"Where are we?" she asked against warm skin.

"An old mill town. Spinner's End."

All too quickly, their private moment came to an end. Draco grabbed her hand and before she knew it, they were off again. She followed Draco in the shadows until they reached the last house on a deserted street. Quietly, Draco muttered a spell at the doorknob before the locks unhinged itself. Together, the two teens pushed on the wooden door and entered, eager to be off the street lest someone see them.

Their Defense Professor greeted them. "You are late. I don't like to be left waiting," he chastised the pair as they caught their breath in the entryway. "Were you followed?"

Draco shook his head. "I made sure, as we'd practiced. Are you alone?"

Severus clipped his head in approval and gestured for the pair to take a seat in the parlor room. He remained standing. "Bellatrix and I were pursued, but we managed to lose our trail. We are to reconvene at Malfoy Manor."

Hermione's brows rose to which Draco explained, "The Dark Lord set up operations there after we fled last year. With my father in Azkaban and my mother at Crestmoor, the Manor's wards were subject to dismantling."

"Does your mother know?" Hermione asked.

Draco shook his head. "She is safe at Crestmoor. Severus and I prefer that she doesn't know."

Hermione sighed, accepting that there was truly no going back now. She longed to know how Harry was doing at the moment, but that would have to wait. Dumbledore had entrusted them with a mission. She would see it through. She looked to the Slytherin men and asked, "So, what happens now?"

Severus gave her a discerning look and slowly offered, "News will spread. No doubt Mr. Potter will be generous in giving the details."

Hermione closed her eyes for purchase. "He'll know I'm a …"

"A Veela? Yes, as will the Wizarding populace once the morning  _Prophet_  is delivered." He narrowed his eyes as he glanced between the two. "Is there a reason you chose to keep this from me?"

Arching a brow, she peered at her Professor. "You mean you couldn't discern it the from our Occlumency lessons?"

Beady black eyes glistened at the subtle dig. "I do not care what inheritance your bloodline possesses, but did it occur to you, that this information in the wrong hands can prove fatal to our endeavor?"

Draco took ahold of Hermione's hand in support and replied, "Which is why you will steer us clear of landmines, Severus. Hermione can't help Potter's rashness. However, I believe there are more important matters to discuss."

There was more to discuss on this particular matter, Hermione gleaned from Severus' pained expression, but nevertheless, he moved on. "We leave tonight," he informed the pair matter-of-factly.

"But what about our plan?" Hermione stood her feet. They had discussed this. They were supposed to bide their time following the fallout of Dumbledore's death, and if possible, connect with the Order to establish at least one point-of-contact. Then, they would bring her to Voldemort. "We were to wait a bit before we moved," Hermione stressed, uncomfortable going against their plan.

"Circumstances have changed," Severus noted simply. "Harry's firsthand account of Dumbledore's demise was previously not a factor. This changes matters as now word will quickly spread to your father's Ministry. Kingsley may try to delay them, you are his daughter after all, but I do not doubt the Aurors will seek us in earnest now. We need to get to you the Dark Lord. He will want to meet you; no doubt, Bellatrix has delivered this newest development to his ears by now. The Manor has been made safe for the time being from external attack. It is our only recourse."

Draco read between the lines. "Tonight, you mean?"

Severus nodded his head as he magically shrunk potion ingredients and various items to store in a travelling bag, momentarily granting the pair a moment of peace.

Draco stood from his seat and pulled Hermione up with him. He sought to soothe her, "We knew this day was coming, love."

Hermione nodded and accepted Draco's warm embrace. Taking a breath, she returned, "I know." This night was far from over as she steeled herself to be ready for what was to come.

She prayed it was enough.

* * *

The tingling of bells from the fireplace was the first clue that Narcissa was about to have a late-night visitor. Fastening a dressing robe about her person, she gathered it could only be one of two men as she made her way down the stairs. She activated the fireplace, and just as quickly, a furious wizard bounded through.

"Is this what you couldn't tell me about!?" Kingsley shouted as soot and ash rained upon the room. He waved an advance copy of the  _Prophet_  that would be delivered that morning to the Wizarding populace. In bold letters, the headline screamed, " **Hogwarts' Headmaster Killed by Shacklebolt Heir, Claims Chosen One!** " Kingsley held up an envelope in his other hand. "Then, a few hours later, I received this from Emmeline!"

Things clicked into place. Narcissa's eyes watered as she watched the Minister for Magic rage about her living room.

"Is this what you and Severus have been planning?" he shouted with enough force that the walls trembled.

Narcissa hated withholding information from her friend, especially on something such as this. She struggled to explain, "You have to understand! We couldn't tell you at the time. How would it look if the Minister knew there was going to be an attempt on the Headmaster's life, yet did nothing about it?"

"Except now I know! One could make a case that I was an unwitting accomplice, Narcissa."

Narcissa wearily rubbed her eyes. There would be no more sleep this night. "Severus told me that Dumbledore had been dying for some time now. If you'd please sit down, I can tell you what I know." She levitated a small tea set to the coffee table covered in soot.

"I don't have time to stay. The Ministry is dissolving into panic. Hogwarts' governors want to meet with me shortly. They're accusing me as if I knew something. She is my daughter! What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Tell them you were unaware. It is the truth, Kingsley." Narcissa poured the Minister a cup of tea before offering it to him. "Last summer, Draco and Severus approached the Dark Lord about Draco joining his ranks." She held up a hand at Kingsley's coming protest, so she could fully explain. "Following Lucius' arrest at the Ministry, and under the guise of restoring honor to the Malfoy name, Severus vouched for Draco. But the Dark Lord wanted Draco to prove his loyalty first. He gave him an awful task that no mere boy could accomplish alone."

"And so, you willingly brought my daughter into it?"

"From what Severus tells me, Hermione was going to find out anyway! I don't know all of it, Severus never tells anyone the complete story, but somehow Hermione came upon them: Dumbledore, Draco, and Severus. They must have devised this plan from that moment," she mused to herself as she sipped her tea.

"What plan, Narcissa?" he asked desperately.

Narcissa regarded Kingsley with sympathy. "Dumbledore saw merit in Draco and Severus working from within to bring down the Dark Lord. But Draco ... he couldn't do this alone. "

"So, Emme was brought into this charade? Killing Dumbledore was supposed to grant her the cover needed to gain entry, is that it?" Kingsley stewed in anger for the danger his daughter was in. "The Dark Lord isn't so easily fooled, Narcissa!"

"I like it even less than you, Kingsley!" she argued back just as hotly. "But what could I do? By time Severus told me, they had already brought Draco before the Dark Lord, and this plan was set in motion by Dumbledore himself. This was going to happen whether I liked it or not. Hermione was going to find out whether you liked it or not."

Kingsley lifted a heavy head from his hands, the weariness clear on his face. "How am I supposed to explain this to the Order? Harry will be furious. They will see it as a betrayal."

Narcissa moved to sit beside Kingsley on the sofa. She placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Kingsley, you cannot speak of this to anyone. I told you because as Hermione's father, you deserve to know the truth, but this cannot go beyond the two of us. From this moment, our son and daughter's lives are at stake. I pray Severus can watch over them, but I know what the Dark Lord requires of his followers. I know the personal toll it can take. I take solace in the fact that at least they have each other. They've grown quite close since Christmas." Both adults reminisced the moment they caught their children kissing in the kitchen, their light laughter and red faces seemed like ages ago.

Kingsley stared ahead, unseeing, and stated without emotion, "They will slander our children in earnest now. I may have … I'm not sure, but I may have to publicly disown her. The Wizengamot will oust me if they believe I remain loyal. Then what good can I do?"

Narcissa nodded in understanding as hot tears stung her eyes. "When this is all over, we will tell the world the truth. We will make it right."

"I will destroy him," Kingsley seethed his promise to take down Dark Lord.

"Do what you can," Narcissa coldly agreed. "Bring the full weight of the Ministry down on his army. The quicker this war is over, the faster we can move on. We  **will**  explain it to everyone, but until then …"

Kingsley stood from the sofa, their short meeting at a close. "I will remain silent," he finished for her. "I must be going, but how are you doing otherwise?"

Narcissa sighed, despondent her only company in weeks was leaving so soon. "I am doing well. The Manor, however large and imposing it was, was still my home. I miss it," she admitted as she escorted him to the fireplace.

Kingsley squeezed her hand as he activated the Floo. "Don't worry, we will end this war as quickly as possible so you can return home. In the meantime, I promise to visit more often." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

Her eyes widened slightly at the brief token of affection. "Take care, Kingsley."

"You as well, Narcissa."

Narcissa watched as the man disappeared in a whirl of green flame, her heart squeezing ever so briefly. Once again, she was alone.


	21. With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood for this chapter: Avril Lavigne, "I'm With You"

_I'm not the girl I used to be_ , Hermione repeated to herself as she approached the daunting wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Inconspicuously, she shifted the bodice of her formal robes as she, Draco, and Severus walked swiftly toward the gates. It was customary for pureblood witches to wear formal robes, and thus, it was decided that she would wear the most uncomfortable dress she'd ever worn at her first meeting the Dark Lord. Never mind, that it was sexist as hell, or that it three in the morning.

She swallowed her modern way of thinking like a spoon full of disgusting medicine as she mentally prepared her walls. In a world where arranged marriages were aplenty, she shouldn't have been offended to learn that witches were expected to wear formal robes, particularly when visiting the Dark Lord's court. Never mind if one had just committed murder and it was well past midnight, it was the proper thing to do.

The girl she used to be would have objected to all those things, especially murder, she surmised with a heavy heart. As Draco lifted his wand to grant them access to the Manor, the realization hit that she was not that girl any longer, nor would she be for quite some time. Like Severus had taught her, she fortified her mental walls to complete the last of the transition, and prepared to lie with truth. It was easier than expected to channel her anger so that she was the epitome of a witch scorned in place of the girl she used to be. She thought about her Marie's murder, and vividly recalled a scared mother clutching an infant, intent to leave war for the safety of France. She thought about the life that had been stolen from her as recalled the peaceful park where she and Draco had first met. The Malfoys and Shacklebolts were a family bound by loyalty and friendship. Hermione soured at what could have been had events been allowed to play their natural course. As she traversed the stone-lined path towards the Manor's entrance, her transformation was completed. Now, all she was left with was a burning anger. She funneled it so that the Dark Lord would see a witch angry enough to betray the Light. She prayed it would be enough.

However, one lone bright spot kept her from completely vanishing into darkness, and he currently walked beside her in support. He held his head high, and though his eyes remain forward-facing, the hand at the small of her back reminded her that he was still with her.

An unnamed Snatcher greeted them at the door. After Severus introduced her, the newcomer in their small group, and stated their purpose, the man's eyes widened in shock before quickly granting them entrance. It seemed news of Dumbledore's murder had spread quickly that night. As they crossed the foyer's marble floors, it was hard not to recall other memories, pleasant memories that had occurred at Malfoy Manor in different times. Distant thoughts of reunions and broom rides through the winter sky seemed like ages ago as she walked through the cold Manor.

Her jaw tightened as she bade those memories to the recesses of her mind. This was not the time. Quickly, she sought Draco's hand as they entered the Manor's drawing room. His hand dropped from her waist, and answered her unspoken request as he took her hand into his own. Her mate's thumb tickled the inside of her palm as the pair entered behind Severus. The miniscule movement was enough to keep her grounded.

Few were awake at such an hour, but those who were took interest in her immediately. And no more so than the Dark Lord himself.

Voldemort sat at the other end of the room, a small unassuming man, until she took note of the hulking great snake beside him and the quiet power he commanded. Severus greeted him, but the words were lost to her cottoned-up ears. Her heart thundered a dangerous beat, because while the Dark Lord replied to Severus outwardly, he assaulted her mind.

The mental assault was quicker than she'd imagined. It was as if she had been run over by a hippogriff, then all of a sudden, it was over. The assault left her reeling and nauseous as she swayed into Draco's shoulder. Her Veela sat to attention as a result.

Her mate glanced down at her, asking with concerned grey eyes if she was alright. But it was too late; the Dark Lord had searched her mind in the span of a conversation. As he slid his attention to her, completely bypassing Draco, she prayed what he saw had been enough. Because if it wasn't...

"The prodigal daughter returns," he greeted her with a semblance of a smile. "Welcome, Ms. Shacklebolt. Young master Malfoy." He dipped his head in greeting, keen to observe the niceties.

She stayed the compulsion to shiver in disgust and asked instead, "You are familiar with the Muggle parable, my Lord?" The surprise was genuine.

His eyes traversed the length of her. "I recall it during my unfortunate time in their care, however short it was, yes."

A hint of a smirk, "We have that in common, then."

He did not lean forward, but a subtle shift said he was intrigued. "And what is that?"

"Our unfortunate time with  _Muggles_ ," she dragged out the word.

"Was it really? Unfortunate, I mean?" he tested her. "You have not blocked your memories of your Muggle parents. I suspected that would have been the first thing you did tonight, and yet, you so freely cling to them? Why is that?"

"At first, a child is satisfied with the paper toy. As he ages and learns more about his world, he realizes, then, that the paper toy did not suffice at all. I cannot erase my unfortunate past as much as you cannot," she finished.

Voldemort smirked as he leaned against his chair. "And yet, you would so openly betray your father, our Minister for Magic, as it were?"

"My father betrayed our family, our duty to history, and my mother the night he let her leave with me. Because of his mistakes, I was denied the life that I was due and House Shacklebolt almost lost its heir." Here, she turned to her mate and spoke the truth, "If it wasn't for Draco, I wouldn't have found out whom I was."

"Yet, you fought with your father and the rest of his rebels last year at the Ministry," he pressed her with a forked tongue.

"My father is a confused man," was all she could say as under his unwavering gaze. Again, tendrils of black ink pressed around the surface of her mental walls, seeking a weakness. But anger made for a powerful foundation. Shakily, she asked the room aloud, "How could I follow someone who gave up looking for me after my mother's murder? How could I come to love a man who would so easily let his wife and child go?" Anger made her grip the fabric of her pretty robes. "He's made his choice, as I have made mine."

The room fell silent after her confession as all waited with bated breath for the Dark Lord to render his decision. She clung to the fact that he would have had her killed the moment he'd invaded her mind. But he must have seen something…

Then, his slippery smile returned. "The Shacklebolts are a powerful family. For the world to see its heir fight for us, will strike a blow to them all. Welcome, Ms. Shacklebolt." He extended his hand.

She closed her mouth before it fell open embarrassingly, as she moved forward to take his hand. The room watched as she glided across the floor, as Draco had taught her at Hogwarts. She stopped before him, and curtsied in her heels. He smiled at the display before she took his cold hand and placed a light kiss to pale, smooth knuckles. "My Lord," she demurred.

Just as she was walking back to Draco and Severus' side, Voldemort said to her back, "Bellatrix told me the most interesting news upon her return from Scotland this evening. It appears during an unfortunate skirmish with Mr. Potter, it was discovered that you are a Veela?" Blood froze in her veins. "Is that so?" he asked.

Turning once again, she corrected, "Part Veela, actually. On my mother's side. I've only recently discovered this inheritance."

Voldemort took note of Draco general proximity to her as she returned to his side. "I've read of your betrothal in the  _Prophet_. Don't tell me, your mate is your intended?" He made a sound akin to a laugh. "How ... quaint. It's like a fairytale, wouldn't you agree, Severus?" Though he addressed the question to Severus, his gaze flitted between the pair of teenagers.

"I find the likelihood of their betrothal and being mates very low," their Professor dully replied.

Voldemort continued, "If I remember correctly, fully bonded Veela are dangerous beings to cross, especially if their mate is endangered." He cocked his head, as if he truly did not know the answer. "Is that correct, Severus?" Here, he leaned forward in his chair as his wicked intention came to light.

"That is correct," Severus slowly drawled the answer.

A sense of dread filled her gut as she caught eyes with Draco. Worried honey-colored eyes met cool greys.

He addressed his next question to her. "And tell me, Ms. Shacklebolt, are you and Mr. Malfoy fully bonded?"

Hermione swallowed. For the first time, nerves make her voice quiver. "Not in the proper sense, no. I'm sure Bellatrix has shared with you my capabilities. I assure you, they will suffice."

"Your pretty words does little to convince me, Ms. Shacklebolt. If you are to truly join our cause, then I require the best from my followers. And as it currently stands, you are not at your best."

"Striking down Dumbledore wasn't enough?" she asked back, coolly. Others shrank back at her bravado, but she held ground. She would not stand for what he was proposing.

"I have a fully-blooded werewolf within my arsenal," he replied, as if her feat was merely ordinary. "A fully-mated Veela will enhance our chances of victory, wouldn't you agree?"

Draco spoke up beside her. "My Lord, Emmeline has had a long night. Perhaps, there is a way -"

"Do not presume to tell me what is best, Mr. Malfoy!" he interrupted. "You stand before me unharmed because killing you would lose my best asset in months. And that is a pity seeing as the assignment to kill Dumbledore was yours. That your  _mate_ had to finish what should have been yours would warrant your death. Do not tempt me to change my mind." The air in the room swiftly fell below freezing as Voldemort's anger prickled the atmosphere.

"Stop," Hermione whispered, as she took hold of Draco's hand. She looked upon the Dark Lord and carefully masked her ire. "I'll do it."

"Tonight," he clarified for all in the room to hear.

Hermione dipped her head in reluctant acceptance. It was going to happen anyway, but never in a million years would she want it to happen like this. Such a decision should have been on their terms. With a heavy exhale, she waited for their imminent dismissal so she could privately prepare Draco for what was to come.

But it never came.

"And it will happen now." Voldemort waved his wand as an orange jet of light burst forward into mist; the mist moved to the envelope the pair. Whatever the spell had been had little effect on her creature blood. However, Draco doubled over beside her, clenching his knees as if in pain.

Quickly, Hermione turned flashing eyes upon Voldemort. "What did you do to him?! If you have harmed him -"

Draco moaned as he gripped his knees, though it was not a sound of pain.

"A spell to awaken one's desire, Ms. Shacklebolt. The spell is innocuous on you, as it were, but our friend, Mr. Malfoy is susceptible to its effect."

Hermione spun to check on Draco. She took note of his face, red from restraint, and his shallow breath. "Are you alright?" She placed a worried hand on his arm, and jumped back when a strong grip suddenly ensnared her wrist. He straightened and pierced her with dark look.

Behind her, the Dark Lord taunted her as onlookers cheered in anticipation. "Prepare yourself, Ms. Shacklebolt. You will claim your mate for the Dark. We are ever grateful to witness such a blessed ritual."

Hermione wiggled her wrist in Draco's grasp as the world dropped away. Utterly concerned, she asked, "Draco, can you hear me?"

He pulled her in close and whispered harshly into her hair. It was evident that he was losing the fight. "The spell's too strong," he said by way of apology.

Hermione pulled back to look up at him with tears in her eyes. Her first time was supposed to be special, private and loving, and now that moment would be irreparably tainted by dark magic. Her Potions professor, and others would look upon her nude body and she would have to face them with knowledge that they'd seen her at her most vulnerable.

Though he trembled and stumbled into lust, Draco placed his hands on the side of her face, so that her vision funneled to clear grey eyes and not the group of men who surrounded them. Her heart constricted out of concern as her Veela stirred awake. "It's just me," he whispered. He pressed a sweaty forehead to hers, promising her, "I'll make it quick so we can leave."

"I never wanted this," she whispered for his ears only. She  _needed_  him to understand that she did not want to force this life, this choice upon him. Ideally, they would have talked about such a decision and made sure she had his full consent before undertaking such an endeavor. Because they were on the edge of forever. "There'll be no going back after this," she murmured, eyes closed in regret.

Draco nodded as lewd calls encroached upon their private moment. "There never was for me." She opened her eyes at that to find his eyes pleading with her.  _Our beginning does not define our end_ , they said.

With shaking hands, she lifted to cup his face, and nodded in response. She quietly marveled at how much he'd changed in the past year. Had she changed so much, as well? Taking the moment as permission to procced, she pulled his head down to hers, though he met her just as eagerly, and just as passionately. She closed her eyes as their lips met, and immediately, images of Dumbledore's death at her hands and Harry's eyes screaming in pain vanished to the outskirts. She pressed into his Draco's kiss, determined to chase away the ugly feelings swirling in her gut.

Tears squeezed from her eyes as he clung to her, as if he could discern the tide of emotion threatening to sweep her away. He deepened the kiss, sweetly running his tongue along hers. Slowly, the nightmare that waited behind her lids re-focused to center on the man before her. Two years ago, the man who kissed her reverently had so brazenly dropped a picture into her hands that changed her life forever. One year ago, the man who currently unzipped her bodice, set up a meeting between her biological father and her newly-found God-parents, giving her the family she'd never known. She kept her eyes trained on him as he pushed the garment down her shoulders so that the dress fell to her chest unobstructed.

Draco paused to wipe a tear from her cheek as he undressed himself. She did not miss how he disrobed so that he would be more undressed than she. If he had qualms about standing bare before the room, he did not show it. Even in this wretched situation, her mate was unwilling to see her further embarrassed. Her heart quickened with the thought.

She lowered to the floor then, watching Draco intently as he raged against the compulsion of Voldemort's spell. The physical effort played across his face, which strained red in effort. Lifting a hand, she beckoned for him to join her. This needed to end quickly. He lowered to his knees, and she reached up to skim her fingertips across his chest. He was cold due to the jarring air in the drawing room. Leaning forward, she kissed the spot where his heart beat for her.

Within her, her Veela awoke in hunger. "My mate," she called him as she kissed a trail of kisses across his chest. Above her, he nodded.

"Yours," he agreed quietly.

She hummed in content as the kisses lifted higher. Her hand found his, and she squeezed. "My sweet mate, will you have me?" she pressed the question into his collarbone.

Two fingers gripped her chin until she was forced to meet his eyes. "Until my dying breath," he said with such finality that should be impossible for one so young.

She sat back at his proclamation, torn between disbelief and euphoria. Logically, that could not make sense. They were seventeen; their entire lives were before them. Such a fierce proclamation should  _not_  make sense. Her heart still sang though, as his words lifted her higher than any broom ever could. Close enough, so that only she could hear, Draco whispered as he pushed them to the ground, "I'm with you always, Hermione."

They fell to the floor at his declaration. Her Veela, immensely satisfied at openly claiming her mate, preened in euphoria as she melted into him. She burrowed against his chest as his knee pushed her legs open. A hand disappeared beneath her skirt as the fabric gathered at her thighs; it was enough to keep her from being exposed.

She held clung to Draco as two fingers entered her. The intrusion was different, but not unwelcome. Her Veela inwardly sang in delight and prepared her body to receive him, even if the moment was not ideal. Slickness coated his fingers and ran down her thighs.

Hermione blinked in ignorance as her mate took the lead. Above her, Draco held her gaze as his fingers stretched her unused walls. As her slickness eased his passage, the pressure from his hand lessened. In and out, he withdrew from the heat of her, giving her time to adjust to the feel of him. With every exhale, she relaxed, ensured that her mate would make sure she felt as little pain as possible.

Beads of sweat formed at his hairline as she took in another one of his fingers. Reaching up, she wiped the hair away from his forehead, and murmured, "I'm ready, Draco."

Draco swallowed with difficulty as he bobbed his head. Still focused upon her, he watched carefully for any sign of discomfort. Distantly, she became aware of his hand pulling from the heat of her, leaving her with a sense of emptiness. Her eyes tracked across his face, waiting for what came next. Her breath started to come in short, shallow puffs as the anticipation mounted.

"Are you ready?" The question was rough from restraint. Her heart bled at the fact that he would seek her permission first, as if they'd a choice at all.

She lifted her arms to draw him close, as if she could pull him into her heart and keep him safe. "Take me away from here," she whispered her plea, and on the floor of Malfoy Manor's drawing room, her mate joined himself with her.

Searing pain tore at her lower half at the intrusion. The more he pressed into her, the more it burned. Her Veela compelled her to remain still and accept him. But Merlin, it hurt. In short, small thrusts, he pushed against the remainder of her barrier, until it gave way. The moment it did, she locked around him, suddenly scared as the pressure bloomed from the center of her. It multiplied until her lower half was filled with the swell of him. Above her, Draco's eyes rolled closed; the sensation too great. Dimly, lecherous calls surrounded the mated pair as they finally began an ancient dance as old as time.

Draco's hair was slick with sweat as she gave reign over to him. He withdrew and re-entered her slowly, in effort to give her time to acclimate , but she did not want to draw this out before an audience.

As Draco sank into her, he brushed across something that had her gasping in shock. He stroked her honeyed spot again, yet oddly, it was her mouth that responded to her mate's harried thrusts. Unbeknownst to her, her incisors lengthened. Her pupils dilated as she focused on the large vein in his neck. As he continued to move above her, her ears picked up his heartbeat, strong and vibrant. She drifted ever closer to that spot on his neck.

Lewd jeers, the slapping of flesh upon flesh, and the world faded to a point on his neck, as her lips parted in search of a taste…

Time blurred for dizzying moments and when she came to, Hermione was latched onto Draco's neck. She had sucked the skin of his neck into her waiting mouth, and before she could stop it, her newly-lengthened fangs tasted hot cooper. Draco stilled above her, before giving a great groan. Just as quickly, she was doused in warmth as his seed spilt inside her. All the while, she sampled and played with the taste of him on her tongue. Like warm water, it slid down her throat in thick droves until it settled in her gut. She was not disgusted by the taste; quite opposite, in fact. The experience was exhilarating as she pulled more and more with each successive draw.

Draco moaned above her, from pain from pleasure, she could not discern, as she was caught in the moment. Within the very heart of her, she could  _taste_  his heartbeat and feel his soul. As she swallowed his essence, dimly, she became aware that she had not experienced an orgasm. Though what she had experienced was just as great.

Suddenly, her fangs dislodged from broken skin as someone pulled her mate away from her. "That's enough, Ms. Shacklebolt," Severus chided as he pulled an unconscious Draco from her.

Hermione licked bloody lips as Draco lolled to the side. Mindful of her bare lower half, Hermione pulled her dress robes down to cover evidence of their coupling. Thankful for her swift-thinking Professor, Severus withdrew his wand and levitated his limp form. Draco shivered mid-air as twin streams of blood dribbled down his neck and into his collarbone. Her mate was paler than usual and unconscious.

Hermione, however, remained frozen on the ground. Had she done that, as she looked on in horror? She did not want to hurt him. A trembling hand touched her lower lip and pulled away with scarlet droplets on her fingertips. She would have slid into panic right then and there as Death Eaters around her cheered her feat as if it were their own personal victory. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to calm unsteady nerves because just there, in the seat of her mind, she felt him. Her Draco. A connection, wide and open, linked Veela to mate, and while his outward form looked worse for wear, she could feel his body retreating inward to rest.

He would awake soon, and when he did, nothing would tear him from her.

Hermione stood from the floor, completely numb to what she'd just done as she tugged on her dress front to cover herself. On one hand, her Veela was sated at finally claiming her mate, but on the other hand, she hurt for any pain she'd unintentionally brought. Such a mark should have been given in love and care. Had this ritual occurred under a proper setting, she could have ensured a pleasurable experience for her mate.

She turned dark eyes to the reason they were forced to share this private experience with an audience. Voldemort sat upon his self-made dais at the front of the room. With an incline of his head, he  _finally_  dismissed her. She did not bother to hide her rage, and he smirked as if he knew her feelings on the matter.

However, there was little time for dallying as Severus led her mate out of the room. There would another time for vengeance as she stalked past the small group who disbanded now that their show was over.

She followed quickly behind Severus as they traversed the Manor's halls. A lifetime ago, she had walked these very halls with Narcissa, right after meeting Kingsley for the first time. That was a lifetime ago. Since then, she had killed, mated, and joined the Dark at the behest of her fallen Headmaster. The passage of time felt as cold and empty as the Manor's halls across her skin. Without its Lord and Lady present, it seemed as if very stones of the ancient house had shuttered upon itself.

Soon, they reached Draco's wing of the house. Hermione locked the door behind her after she entered. It was late, and while she gathered the rest of the Manor was asleep, she was not about to take any chances.

"Do you have …" She was about to ask about a blood-replenishing potion, but her Professor, ever astute, produced a vial as he Draco lowered onto the bed.

Hermione moved to stand on his right side as Severus moved to his left. He un-stoppered the vial as she opened Draco's mouth for him. "Did you have to take so much in one draw?" he berated her.

Hermione blushed as she worked to heal his wound. Unconsciously, she licked her lips, savoring the taste of him. The wound needed considerably less healing magic as compared to earlier. It was probably on account of her Veela serum coursing through his veins. She kept her focus on the rise and fall of his chest, instead of glancing at her Professor and fellow double agent. "It isn't like I knew what would be expected of me tonight. Otherwise, I would've had time to properly prepare.  _We_ would have had time to prepare," she said wistfully.

"A word of advice, then. There will never be time to acclimate to what will be asked of you. Your best recourse is to do it, and move on."

Hermione grimly nodded as she stowed her wand. Draco's wound was now properly cared for and bandaged. Severus must've noticed the utter look of despair clouding her face, for she did little to hide it. Too much had happened this night.

He sighed, and dismissed himself. "I will return in the morning to check on his condition. I assume you do not need anything." It was not a question.

Had he asked, she would have asked for a potion to erase the last twenty four hours. Instead, she dumbly shook her head. "No," she whispered. Decorum demanded she wait for her Professor to leave before impolitely jumping into bed with her lover, but the need to hold her mate was too great. He was the air to her oxygen-starved lungs and before Severus turned his back, she'd jumped into the bed and crawled to Draco's uninjured side.

No house elf would come to their aid this night. Narcissa would not be there to greet them for a late brunch on the terrace. For the foreseeable future, it would be her and Draco in this dark new world. She was scared for parents, for her friends, and for the unconscious man beside her. As she hugged Draco closer, she held tight to the fact that she was not alone.

She replayed his words over and over again until sleep finally stole her away. _I'm with you always, Hermione._


End file.
